


Semper Fi

by onahunt



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Military, BAMF Meg, F/M, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mentions of Erectile Dysfunction, Panic Attacks, Physical Therapy, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, Therapy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-04
Updated: 2015-10-14
Packaged: 2018-02-24 03:40:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 31,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2566910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onahunt/pseuds/onahunt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Captain Dean Winchester is rescued from three months of torture by a blue eyed Colonel. When he's sent home he tries to get his life back on track with the help of his mother and brother - then the blue eyed colonel shows up on his doorstep one day.</p><p>Updated tags.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Gunshots and shouting. These were the first noises he heard as he drifted into consciousness. This wasn't an unusual occurrence; there were always gunshots and there was always shouting.

Lifting his head slowly and painfully, he listened. It seemed closer this time, and more frantic.

Dean Winchester pushed himself off the dusty floor, grunting as he tried to ignore his screaming muscles and the searing pain of fresh wounds being moved. It took all his effort to position himself up against the wall in a semi-sitting, semi-laying position. Stars appeared before his eyes.

The world faded back into darkness.

He was jolted awake by the sound of the door being forced open and violently slammed against the wall.

Heavy boots. Four pairs. Possibly military.

Dean registered the sound but kept his head down. Fearing his execution date was finally upon him – why else would they send four guys when he was in such a bad state - he kept his head down and clenched his fists, willing his hands not to betray his shaking.

A pair of boots stopped in front of him. Three months ago he would have grabbed the guy behind the knees and taken him down. But that was three months ago, he'd been to Hell and back since then.

The person in the boots crouched down to his level, pulling him up into a more upright position. He kept his head down, defeated.

“Dean Winchester. Captain. 389016.” He croaked out his name, rank and number for the hundredth time that week; his throat dry and filled with dust.

“ _Semper Fi_ , Captain. _Semper Fi_.” The man crouched in front of him said quietly, tilting Dean's head back gently. It was just loud enough for Dean to hear and it startled him. He hadn't heard an American accent in months.

Dean looked up for the first time. Instead of the dark glare of another torturer, he saw concerned eyes looking back at him. Concerned blue eyes.

It was a second before he realised Blue Eyes was holding a container to his chapped lips and pouring water into his extremely dry mouth, it started flowing down his chin before Dean's brain thought to swallow. He choked a little and Blue Eyes pulled the water away.

As he put the cap back on the bottle and stowed it away, Dean caught the flash of wings on the stranger's collar.

He felt a sense of relief wash over him and allowed a ghost of a smile to cross his face as he thought back to what his mother used to tell him as a child – angels must indeed be watching over him.

Before he passed out again, he vaguely heard the stranger's deep voice telling him they were here to take him home, a crackle of a radio and another voice in the distance saying “Dean Winchester is saved.”

* * *

 

When Dean woke up he was in a cot in a field hospital, there were a few others dotted around the ward but the tent was quiet save for the murmur of a group of people near the entrance. His body felt light enough to drift away, he giggled at the thought.

The group by the entrance to the tent looked over at the sound and started moving his way, someone in a white coat stopped the man in desert camo with a hand to the chest and the man left.

“I see someone's enjoying the morphine,” a young male nurse smiled down at him.

Dean shifted his gaze slowly from where the man in the khaki and tan coloured utility uniform had exited to smile up at the nurse.

“Yes, sir.” He attempted to lift his arm in a salute and winced in pain.

The man in the white coat came up behind the nurse with a clipboard, jotting something on the pad.

“Welcome back, Captain. You had us worried for a few days there.” The doctor smiled and ordered the nurse to fetch some more sedatives and saline for his drip. “You'll be back on home soil soon, just rest up and let us take care of the rest.”

As soon as the nurse came back and replaced his drip, Dean slipped into a painless sleep.

* * *

The next time he woke up he was on the move, two marines carried his stretcher and another walked beside his head carrying the drip and a duffel with his initials on it. It was hot and the sun was beating down on him, the jostling of the stretcher movement hurt like hell and he felt like he had an anvil sat on his head.

“Marine,” he grunted.

“Yes, sir?” The Marine by his head said, looking shocked that he'd woken up. The Marine in front turned his head but kept moving.

“Where are we going?”

“Sir, you're going home.”

As if on cue, they moved under the shadow of a carrier just as the engines started up, the propellers of the engines making the dust fly all over but Dean didn't mind, it was a nice breeze under the midday sun.

The three Marines got Dean's stretcher settled and strapped in, hooked his drip somewhere above his head and turned to leave as more marines filtered onto the aircraft with their bags, some with obvious injuries but most beaming and talking animatedly at the prospect of finishing their tour of duty.

A sad smile drifted across Dean's face as he thought about his little band of brother's, his A class team of misfits who were probably already shipped back home, not to see loved ones but to be added to the long list of serving men and women who would be remembered for the lives they gave in the name of freedom. He promised himself that he'd personally toast each and every member of his command that didn't make it back next time he was at a bar, probably best to do that after he visited their families rather than before.

Another young Marine came over and took up the seat next to his as the plane started to move toward the runway.

“Corporal Adam Milligan at your service, Sir.” He saluted before buckling in for the journey.

“Corporal,” Dean acknowledged.

“I have an endless supply of morphine and will be replacing your drip, Sir.”

“Excellent. I'd rather not remember this ride, Milligan, if you get my drift.”

Adam smiled and rummaged around in a med bag he was carrying.

The last thing Dean heard before the morphine took over was Adam saying, “Loud and clear, Sir.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean wakes up in hospital back in the good ole US of A.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been forever! I'm sorry, life got in the way and then Christmas happened - I've been a bit ill as well and just not had the concentration to be able to get more than a few sentences down at a time on this fic for some reason.  
> No Cas in this chapter but some Sam and Dean bonding, and a bit of mummy dearest.

Dean woke up to the quiet buzz of hospital white noise; a steady beeping noise and a soft whirring of machines. He tried to open his eyes but it was a struggle, his eyelids felt heavy and the bright light of the room hurt so he was quick to close them again, turning his head away from the source of his problem in protest.

The rustle of his head against the fabric of the pillow caused a heavyweight he hadn't realised was there to move from the bed near his left hand.

“Dean?” A quiet, desperate voice asked.

He knew that voice, he was sure of it. His head was fuzzy from the pain medication that was no doubt being pumped through his system, making it hard to focus and recall what had happened.

“Hey, Dean. I know you're awake.”

Big soft fingers found their way into his hand and squeezed. Of course – Sam! Sam was a lawyer. Sam lived in California. Dean must have been on the flight back to the west coast. He was back on home soil at least, even it was miles from home.

“Bitch.” He mumbled cracking open one eye.

“Jerk,” his younger brother chuckled in relief, smiling down at him. “How are you feeling?”

His head felt a little clearer as he became aware of his surroundings and the multitude of wires and tubes coming out of various parts of his hospital gown.

“Like a million dollars,” he smiled, gently squeezing the giant hand in his before letting go.

Sam pulled his hand back and ran it through his hair, his long hair Dean noticed. The last time Dean had seen his brother in the flesh, Sam had just had it cut into a short, more professional style before he started an internship at a highly prestigious law firm. But that was years ago and Sam was a fully fledged family lawyer now, maybe the rules were more relaxed.

“Dude, you need a hair cut. They let you grow it like that at the firm?” Dean asked as he tried to push himself into a more upright position.

Sam pushed him back down with ease, a disapproving look on his face. “You've been MIA for three months, unconscious for a week – take it easy man. And that's the first question you have for me?”

Dean would have scowled at being told what to do by his giant of a little brother, but he knew Sam was right, his body felt heavy, his head was spinning and his arms couldn't even push his chest higher than an inch off the bed so he accepted defeat for now. As his head fell back onto the pillow he closed his eyes until his head settled and he could get his breath back. As he lay there he listened to the sounds of the hospital and took in the smells – it was clean and quiet, he wasn't too hot or too cold – he was back with Sam, in America. He was free.

“Dean, are you okay?” Sam sounded concerned as he pushed his hand back into Dean's.

“Yeah, Sammy.” He opened his eyes and smiled. “Just a little fuzzy from the meds, nothing to worry about.”

“I'm going to get a doctor anyway, you've had a lot of surgery and they probably need to check your stitches or something.”

Before Dean could protest Sam was out of the door, calling for a nurse.

Dean took the opportunity to assess his situation. The regular, if a little annoying, beeping noise was coming from the monitor to his right which was hooked up to the wires leading into the front of his hospital gown – heart monitor, check. The soft whirring was coming from a point just out of his peripheral but he was sure it was something to do with the oxygen tubes shoved up his nose. He had a drip in his left arm, and there was definitely a catheter in play, which he promptly chose to ignore forever. Apart from the bandage on his arm, the only other he could see was on his right hand, but he was sure if he could muster the strength to lift the blanket and take off the hospital gown, his body would not be a pretty sight.

The room he was in was fairly small, just room enough for one bed and the monitors. There was a chair over in the far corner next to a large window with views of, well, sky from all Dean could see. Sam had been sitting in another chair next to the bed which looked out of place. Come to think of it, there was a coat and bag on the chair in the corner of the room that seemed vaguely familiar.

He was interrupted by his train of thought by the arrival of a small party of people. Sam had not only found Dean's doctor and nurse, but he'd also managed to acquire their mother who burst into the room, past the medical staff and threw her arms over Dean carefully but lovingly.

“Oh Dean, thank God you're awake!” She cried into his shoulder. “We've been so worried.”

Dean was stunned at the sudden arrival.

“Mom?” he whispered, moving his right arm slowly up to stroke her blonde hair. He couldn't believe his mother had got on a plane and flown all that way just for him, she hated flying just as much as he did. “What are you doing in California?”

Mary Winchester laughed, pulling back to look into her son's eyes. She stroked his hair back from his forehead and placed a light kiss to it.

“Sweetie, you're in Topeka.” She sat as Sam pushed the chair he'd vacated closer to the bed for her, moving her hands from Dean's face to his hand as she went, gripping it tightly as if he'd disappear if she let go again. Tears of relief filled Mary's eyes as she gazed at her oldest son. “You're home.”

He hardly had a second to let the news sink in when the doctor interrupted to check on her patient. Dean learnt that besides a lot of bruising, he'd already had a minor surgery on his left knee and right hand, and he'd been severely dehydrated and malnourished by the time he got to the US. Now that he was awake and stronger than he had been, they planned to do a more extensive surgery to rebuild his knee and he'd need physiotherapy, a lot of physio. All in all it was going to be a long road to recovery, but he didn't mind because he'd made it back and he'd do all he could to get fit so he could make the road trips across the country to pay his respects to the families of the team members he lost.

* * *

 

Time dragged in hospital, it dragged between visits from his mom and brother, it dragged between mealtimes and it dragged between the doctors and nurses checking up on him. Sam had brought him a stash of classic car magazine's he'd been saving for when Dean got back and a bunch of DVDs he hadn't seen yet.

After the surgery to rebuild his knee a few days into his stay in Topeka, Dean suddenly realised that Sam was still around. Not in a 'why the hell are you still here you annoying little shit' kind of way, but in a “Don't you have a job to go to?” kind of way.

“As a matter of fact,” Sam said while leafing through a July issue of the magazine. “I do. Here, in Topeka.”

“What happened to California?”

“California was the other side of the country; it was great but it just wasn't home, y'know?”

Dean did know, he'd missed Kansas with every inch of his body while he was stationed abroad.

“Besides, the firm I was at wanted me to represent people I didn't want to represent and go in a direction I was definitely not comfortable working in, and then you went MIA and mom needed me...” The younger Winchester trailed off. “But I'm now in a very well regarded family practise firm, I'm really enjoying it and there's the promise of partner status on the horizon. It's only thirty minutes from home.”

Dean beamed sleepily, the pain meds were starting to kick in again. “That's great, Sammy. I'm real proud of you.”

“Jess is talking about moving out here.”

“Tha's grea' S'mmy.” He muttered, falling into a painless sleep.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is discharged from the hospital and has his first PTSD moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for multiple character deaths, flashback to being captured and the start of some PTSD symptoms.

It had been a week since the operation to rebuild his knee and he was finally going to be discharged, the doctor was happy with his progress but was still a little concerned that Dean hadn’t put on any of the weight he’d lost as a prisoner of war. The hospital staff’s attempts at increasing his meal portions had left Dean with stomach cramps, and he’d even thrown up after they tried a protein shake. The resident dietician had been called to come up with a meal plan for Mary to follow once Dean was released to gradually introduce foods and up his intake. Dean was not happy about the multi-vitamins he’d have to take on top of it.

The physiotherapist had been to see him the previous day for an assessment on his injured hand and knee, and had given him exercises to do every morning and evening to get his wrist and fingers moving again. They would work on the knee twice a week at their two hour sessions, taking it slowly until it was healed enough to give it a proper workout. The guy, Al, had noticed Dean’s back was stiff so planned to work on that as well in their sessions. It meant he’d have to be driven back to the hospital twice a week as he was currently wheelchair bound, but at least it would get him out of the house.

“Ready to go, Hilts?” Sam grinned walking into the room.

He’d taken to calling Dean ‘Hilts’ after Steve McQueen’s character in The Great Escape when he found Dean sitting on the floor, throwing a baseball at the opposite wall and catching it again. Dean later admitted to having fallen on the floor when he tried to move from the bed to the chair on his own, dejected at being stuck there until someone happened to venture in to check on him half an hour later.

“Get me outta here Sammy!” Dean smiled back, sitting on the edge of the bed in grey sweatpants and a faded black t-shirt.  

Sam dumped a duffle on the bed next to him and started pulling out Dean’s clothes from home.

“Woah, can’t I go like this?” Dean held his good hand out to stop Sam.

Sam pushed it away. “No, Dean. Put some properly clothes on, Mom’s waiting outside with the wheelchair.

Dean grumbled loudly as Sam helped him dress, pulling boxers and jeans over Dean’s knees but allowing him the dignity to go the rest of the way himself. It took him a while to do the button with one hand but he persevered and was almost tempted to do a happy dance when he eventually managed to do it up. Sam huffed out a laugh at the smug look on his older brother’s face, which was promptly wiped off when Sam knelt down to do the laces on Dean’s boots.   

Dean knew he’d lost a lot of weight, he’d practically been fed a crust or two of bread a night for three months and was lucky if he got anything in the morning, but he hadn’t realised how painfully thin he was until he was dressed in his own clothes again. His jeans rested loosely on his hips, the bones the only thing keeping them up, and his plaid shirt seemed to swamp him. The only thing that fit were his goddamn boots.

Sam didn’t seem fazed by the emaciated figure that Dean had now become, man he loved his little brother for that, even if he knew that inside Sam was probably worried sick.

Once they were all set and Dean was loaded into the wheelchair, the nurse came in with the discharge papers and his prescription of pain meds. Dean bade his farewell to the doctor and nurses who had come to see him off, and was wheeled out of the ward.

Before they got to the exit of the building, Mary took his hand and Sam patted him on the shoulder as he pushed the wheelchair.

“Brace yourself, Dean.”

Before he could ask what Sam was on about, they’d exited the building only to be blinded by the flash of cameras and deafened by a flurry of questions shouted at them. Sam and Mary kept their heads down and ploughed through the crowd of reporters, photographers and camera crews.

Dean sat rigid at the onslaught from the media, his good hand gripping at the arm of the chair, the split on his injured hand preventing him from anchoring his right side to reality. The world around him narrowed to the sound of his heart beating, his vision blurred.

When Dean came back to himself he realised he was in the car, strapped in the back with his mother holding his left hand. They were on the open road, having long since left the hospital.

“Dean, sweetie, are you okay?” Mary asked stroking the back of her son’s hand.

“We didn’t know there’d be so many Dean, they ambushed us.” Sam said from the driver’s seat.

Glancing at his mother’s concerned face and Sam’s eyes in the rear view mirror, he cleared his throat and grunted out a barely audible “yeah, fine”.

“We didn’t want to make you anxious by telling you how closely the media has been following your story.” His mom tried to explain. “At first it was just the local paper and news channel but it’s gone national." 

“The Department of Defence released your last radio in to base, you’re kind of a hero now.”

 

_“Winchester to base, do you copy?”_

_“Winchester to base, we’ve been hit-” Gunshots cut him off, he ducked pulling Ash’s prone form down with him. They’d been propped up against the back of the now upside down and smoking humvee._

_“Winchester to base, we’re taking fire. Our vehicle is out of action, we’ve got two Marine’s down, one inj-” Gunshots again. “Dammit!”_

_Dean reached for Ash’s gun, taking it out of his now lifeless hands and fired in the general direction the shots were coming from, without lifting his head. The gunshots were closer this time._

_“Shit! Winchester to base, respond damn you! We’re two click out of Helmand on the old road. We have three dead Marine’s and three more running out of ammo and options!” He knew he sounded desperate but he needed to get the two remaining members of his team out of harm’s way._

_“Lafitte, check in!” He called out over the gunshots. He couldn’t see the bear of a man but he could hear gunshots coming from the back of the humvee so someone was still alive._

_“Aye, brother!”_

_"Harvelle?”_

_“Jo?!”_

_“Present.” Jo grunted, dragging herself around the side of the vehicle toward Dean. She’d been shot in the leg._

_Benny shuffled around the other side until all three remaining members of the team were sat with their backs facing the humvee._

_“Options?” Benny asked._

_“Take what ammo we have left and shoot each other in the head?” Jo said through gritted teeth._

_“Last resort,” Dean affirmed. “There’s no cover. We defend our position until nightfall or until back up arrives.”_

_Benny laughed. “Ain’t no backup, brother. I heard ya on the radio, no one’s picking up.”_

_“Semper Fi my friend, they’ll come.”_

_Suddenly Benny flopped forward, blood pouring out of his neck._

_“Shit! Shit!” Jo cried, panicking._

_“Harvelle look at me,” Dean yelled grabbing the woman’s shoulders. “Look at me! Whatever happens, if they take us, whatever they do we can’t tell them anything. Okay?”_

_Jo nodded. “I know."_

_“Nothing, not for torture, not for death, nothing. We die as Marines.”_

_“Oorah” Jo said softly._

 

“I didn’t know they recorded those.” Dean said quietly.

“Neither did we until they played it.” Mary said solemnly. “They didn’t even edit it, said you forgot to turn the radio off so we heard everything.”

“On the news it said they heard your first radio in and sent back up straight away but by the time they arrived, you and Jo had been taken.”

Dean closed his eyes for the rest of the journey, clinging on to his mother’s hand as the world went by.

Later that evening, when Dean was settled on the couch with his brother, he flicked through the channels until he reached the news. There was a feature on some politician who’d been caught with a hooker somewhere on the East Coast, but soon it changed to images from outside the hospital. The video footage showered Dean being wheeled out into the car park, Sam and his mom holding their hands out to shelter their faces and protect Dean. The words on the screen read ‘Heroic Marine discharged from hospital’.

The report’s voiceover started, “The heroic Captain Dean Winchester, seen here leaving Topeka Veteran Hospital today with his mother and brother, returned to the US almost two weeks ago after being held captive somewhere just outside of Helmand Province for over three months.” The camera froze on a close up of Dean in the wheelchair and a picture of him in dress uniform was pulled up next to it. “It’s clear by comparing images of Captain Winchester before and after this horrendous ordeal, that he still has a long road to recover-“

The screen went black.

“All that flashing’s giving me a headache.” Dean muttered throwing the remote onto the couch next to him. “I might go to bed.”

Sam nodded and helped his brother into the wheelchair before pushing him into the makeshift bedroom that used to be a study on the ground floor.

As Dean lay in bed that night he thought about what he was going to say to the families of his team mates when he was fit enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, I hope you are enjoying so far. Next chapter may have an appearance from a familiar face y'all love x


	4. Chapter 4

Being back at home was a novelty that wore off quickly. With an injured hand he was unable to push himself around in the wheelchair, relying on his mom to help him get out of bed and into the shower, to get dressed and even take a leak. Whilst he loved his mom dearly, and her exceptional cooking skills, he was glad of his bi-weekly appointments back at the hospital for physiotherapy.

Sam drove him to Topeka twice a week, getting in to work late on those days but he assured Dean his boss had okayed it so he could make up the time on the three days he wasn’t ferrying his brother around. Dean only felt a little guilty, after all Sam seemed to enjoy the thirty minute drive to and from the hospital with him.

His physio Al, a big guy with short blonde hair, reminded Dean of one of the drill sergeants he’d had during his interrogation training for the Marines way back when. Alistair had been a sadistic son of a bitch, and Dean recognised some of those same qualities in Al. Well, Dean would say they were similar when Al was yelling ‘motivation’ at Dean to work harder and push through the pain, but he figured Al was trying to help, Alistair was just a bastard.

Al focused on Dean’s hand and back to start with, only giving him a few exercises to get the knee moving again while it healed. Once their two hour session was up, Dean had time to float around in the therapy pool or soak in one of the individual hot tubs used to relax muscles. To start with he needed help to get in and out of the pool or tub, but after a few weeks his hand was strong enough to take his weight momentarily as he lifted himself into his chair.

Getting the use of his hand back felt like progress and gave him a small sense of independence he’d been lacking for so long. He’d had a few mishaps which found him sprawled across the floor, chair on its side and a friendly nurse or physiotherapist rushing to his side, which frustrated him to no end. But all in all it was progress.

The therapy on his knee got tougher and the harder he worked the more it hurt. With his hand back in play, Al was getting him to try walking once a week using the parallel bars for support but it more often than not ended in an angry Dean pounding his fist into the soft mat on the floor.

He was getting angry and frustrated more often, not only during his sessions with Al but at home with his mom and brother as well. It had been almost a month since he’d been released from hospital and although the two days a week he spent back there were a distraction, he spent the other five days trying to find something to occupy his time but he just couldn’t find the concentration or motivation to do anything knowing that he was no way near fit enough to take the road trip he’d planned.  

The press had given up their vigil in Topeka and Lawrence after a week in an attempt to catch a glimpse of him, which meant his mother could wheel him out places whenever they wanted, but he was sick of the well-wishers and stares from strangers so he asked to stay at home.

At home he felt safer. When Mary had taken him out on a few occasions in the last week he found himself on high alert, he was vulnerable in the chair and couldn’t relax for a good ten minutes when they eventually got back to the house. He knew his mom had noticed because she asked if he’d reconsidered the therapy offered by the hospital when he was discharged, which he’d turned down at the time – he was fine! He hadn’t and was determined he wouldn’t need it. She didn’t seem convinced.

The next day, he found himself sat on a mat doing some stretching exercises with Al in front of the long floor to ceiling mirror that ran along one entire side of the physiotherapy gym. He had to admit, Al’s voice had a very calming quality when it wasn’t shouting ‘motivation’ at him.

“Now reach all the way up to the ceiling, higher. Bend forward at the waist and stretch to touch your toes.”

Dean huffed, he was nowhere near touching his toes and Al insisted on trying to hold his knee as close to the floor as the pain would allow, which wasn’t very close at all.

“That’s good Dean, much better than last week.” He pressed slightly harder on the knee earning a small grunt from his patient.

The weight on the knee was lifted. “And slowly roll back up t-“

Al’s dulcet tones were abruptly cut off by a loud clash of metal on metal and an almighty bang. Dean flattened himself to the floor, rolling onto his front and covering his head with his arms. He ignored the burning in his knee as his heart thundered in his chest, eyes squeezed shut and breathing erratically. All he could hear was the high pitched ringing tone from the explosion in his ears, the Humvee was flipped, he knew he had to find his team and make sure they were okay.

Blinking he lifted his head slowly, but instead of the harsh Middle Eastern sun beating down on him, he saw his own deer in headlight reflection looking back at him. The sounds of the room started to filter back to him as the ringing stopped. He registered Al’s firm, grounding hand between his shoulder blades and the distant “It’s okay Dean, you’re alright”.

After a few minutes, Al left Dean propped up against the mirrored wall with his head between his knees while he went to get some water. Dean took the time to look around the room. No one was paying him much attention, there were a few physiotherapists with patients scattered around using different equipment, and someone stacking weights back onto a stand. That must have been the crash that set him off, he was having a goddamn panic attack over a load of weights falling over.

“How you doing?” Al asked holding out a cup of water as he sat next to Dean.

The Marine accepted the water and took a slow sip. “Not so great, I guess." 

“Yeah, I get it. You’re not the first Marine I’ve worked with.” Al sighed. “Look, I know it’s not my place, I’m just hear to get you walking again, but I know you turned down the therapy and I think that was a mistake.”

“You sound like my brother.”

“Great minds and all that,” He laughed, earning a small smile from Dean. “But Sam has a point, I’ve seen the signs creeping over you – you’re anxious when you turn up, you’re getting frustrated more and Sam says you’ve stopped going outside. You fall over because you’re not concentrating and you look like you aren’t sleeping properly. And now this…”

“I get the picture, alright?” Dean snapped.

“If you think being diagnosed with PTSD will stop you getting back to duty, you’re kidding yourself. You’re getting a medical discharge for the knee alone.”

If Dean could have stormed off he would have, instead he screwed up the empty cup of water and threw it across the room.

“Leave me alone!” He yelled, face red from holding back unshed tears. He grabbed his head in his hands, hair sticking out between his fingers, and cried.

That’s where Sam found him several hours later, sat in the brace position with tear stains on his cheeks.

* * *

 

He did get an honourable discharge from the Marines, on medical grounds they said, but he knew that already. They also said he’d get a medal but he refused the invite to the ceremony, they said they’d get it to him anyhow.

He did however agree to start therapy at his family and Al’s insistence – the man refused to let Dean back into the gym unless he was committed to healing his mind as well as his body. Dean didn’t peg the guy for the hippy mumbo-crap, but he needed to walk and drive so he relented. 

The first session with the psychotherapist, Chuck, was stilted at best. Dean was reluctant to talk about anything, even though the questions to start were pretty tame as the therapist tried to get to know Dean a little.

They avoided the glaringly obvious topic of Afghanistan, which Dean was silently grateful for, but with twenty minutes left of the session conversation turned to how Dean was feeling after the incident at the gym.

“I’m a soldier, have been for most of my life; it’s my job- It was my job to be alert and aware of threats. It’s what I’m programmed for.” Dean tried to explain his reaction to the weights falling over, but he wasn’t convincing himself let alone the therapist. “I- Uh. I guess I’ve been a little on edge since I got back.”

“Dean, that on edge feeling you have all the time, we call that hyperarousal.” Chuck said, avoiding the reasons why in their first session, he’d have to probe much deeper in later sessions so Dean could confront what happened head on instead of avoiding it, but he didn’t want to put him off just yet.

“That’s the one thing I’ve not been,” he muttered.

“No,” Chuck’s mouth turned up into a slight smile at the insinuation. “Hyperarousal is when you get anxious and easily startled, like the episode in the gym. You’re always on the lookout for threats and find it difficult to relax. It’s a symptom of PTSD.”

Dean could have argued his case, but what Chuck was saying rang true. He was wound tight like a coiled spring and was close to snapping.

“Are you experiencing a lowered sex drive or failing to get erections?” Chuck asked making a note in the file.

“Dude!”

The mortified look on Dean’s face was enough information for now

“A subject for another time, perhaps? It’s coming up to an hour anyway. I’m going to write you a prescription for an anti-depressant.”

“I’m not depressed.” Dean cut in.

“It will help you relax, and hopefully sleep. Take one with your evening meal and we’ll see how it goes, it’s not a strong dosage so shouldn’t knock you out for the entire next day but we’ll take it slow and make sure we get the right dose for you.”

Chuck scribbled on a smaller pad of paper and tore off the page, thrusting it at Dean with instructions to get the prescription filled at the hospital’s pharmacy.

* * *

 

Dean filled the prescription all right, but he refused to take the pills that night, or the night after. It was only after a particularly loud crash from the kitchen where his mother was making a pie, which had him shaking and frozen to the spot, that he was forced to acknowledge the problem.

Mary had walked back into the front room ten minutes after wrestling the pie tin out of a crowded cupboard to find Dean still frozen in place, shivering in shock with wide glazed over eyes staring straight ahead.

“Dean, sweetie?” She rushed to him and knelt on the floor in front of the couch he was sat on. She carefully cradled his face in her hands and turned it to face her. “Come back to me, Dean.”

It took a few long minutes of Mary’s thumb stroking Dean’s cheek and her humming Hey Jude before his eyes refocused to look at his mother. The look of realisation on his face broke her heart as she pulled him in for a hug.

“Please take the tablets, I’m sure they’ll help.” She whispered, kissing his temple when he nodded in agreement.

The next day Dean slept the morning away thanks to the pill he took with dinner. He was grumpy when he eventually emerged from his room and chastised his mother for letting him sleep in until lunch, she argued that he needed the sleep before leaving him in the kitchen eating lunch and festering in his own foul mood.

There was a knock at the door around three in the afternoon. Mary left Dean in the back garden, where they’d been drinking coffee in the warm afternoon sun, to answer the door.

She was surprised to find a tall dark haired man, in full dress uniform, looking nervously at her from across the threshold.

“Good afternoon, ma’am.” The tall stranger said hesitantly. “I’m looking for Captain Dean Winchester.”

Mary Winchester narrowed her eyes, assessing the handsome soldier in front of her. She determined he was trustworthy, he seemed like he had a kind soul. “I’m his mother, who’s asking?”

“I’m Colonel Cas Novak, I led the team that rescued him from Hel-“

The air was push out of his lungs as Mary Winchester threw her arms around him in a tight bear hug. He was taken by surprise and floundered for a second before embracing her.

“Thank you,” The older lady cried into his chest. “Thank you for bringing my son back to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank for sticking with this, hope you're enjoying!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary and Cas talk about Dean.

Mary Winchester couldn’t quite believe that the man who saved her son was currently standing in her living room looking at the photographs on her mantelpiece.

Colonel Novak was handsome in his officer’s service uniform, with his short dark hair and ocean coloured eyes. If she was a few years younger… Mary chastised herself before she let her mind wander to dangerous territory. The Colonel must be a few years older than Dean, laughter lines were starting to set in and he seemed to have a perpetual frown ingrained into his forehead – stresses of the job, she guessed. He was roughly the same height as Dean, possibly slightly shorter, but more filled out than her son. Although that wasn’t exactly an achievement, Dean was still skin and bone from his ordeal.

“You have a beautiful family, Mrs Winchester.” The Colonel complimented, straightening up to look at her. He seemed nervous, and kept wringing his cap through his hands.

“Thank you, I am very proud of my boys.” She smiled. “Won’t you sit down? Would you like a drink, some homemade lemonade perhaps?”

Cas nodded. “That sounds lovely, thank you.”

When Mary returned with the lemonade Cas was seated on the sofa and had set his cap down on the arm, much to her relief - she feared for the safety of that cap with the way he had been squeezing it out of shape.

Once she was seated herself on the opposite armchair and both had a cool glass of lemonade in their hands, Mary broached the subject of Dean.

“Colonel-“

“Please, call me Cas.” He interrupted.

“Alright. Cas, my family and I are eternally grateful for what you did,” Mary held up her hand as Cas opened his mouth to speak. “You saved my son and brought him back to us, we can never pay you back for that. But if there is anything we can do for you, please let us know.”

“Mrs Winchester-“

“Mary, please.”

“Mary, that isn’t why I’m here.” Cas sighed. “I led that mission because it was the right thing to do. I didn’t know your son, but I knew he was an American soldier captured by the enemy – I never leave a man behind and couldn’t sit by while one of our own was being tortured. I didn’t come here for recompense or praise, and I don’t need anything from you, I assure you. I came because I wanted to make sure Captain Winchester was okay.”

“That’s very honourable of you, but you’ve come an awfully long way to make sure one soldier is okay.” Mary new how precious a few days or weeks of leave could be – having seen John, her ex-husband, and then her oldest son in brief periods once in a blue moon during their tours – and couldn’t comprehend why this Colonel would waste so much time getting to and from Lawrence when he could be spending it with his family and check up on Dean through making a few phone calls.

Cas was quiet for a moment, trying to think of the right words.

“I- It’s hard to explain.”

“Dean has that effect on people.” Mary smiled, knowing that the Colonel had managed to succumb to Dean’s charm.

Cas hummed his understanding. “The first time I saw him he was weak, physically, and exhausted but he still had strength, he was still reciting his name, rank and number after all that time. I’d been losing faith in the system, the cause. And then he looked up at me with so much relief and hope in his eyes… I guess it’s easy to get attached to someone who puts all their faith in you, trusts you to keep them safe and get them home.”

Mary leaned forward and laid a hand on one of Cas’ where it lay on his knee.

“They wouldn’t let me see him when we got back to base, I tried several times. Even pulled rank on one of the nurses and managed to get inside but I got caught and turned away again. He flew back after that. When I got back to the US a few weeks ago I learned that he’d been medically discharged. I had to know he was okay.”

“Dean’s getting a lot of help,” Mary carefully chose her words. “He won’t ever be able to run a marathon but his physio thinks he’ll be able to walk again without a crutch if he puts the work in. He’s just started getting counselling. I’m not sure-”

Both Mary and Cas whirled around at the sound of someone clearing their throat. Dean had managed to quietly wheel himself into the house without either person noticing and looked less than impressed that his mother was talking about him with someone else.

“Dean!” Mary cried. “I thought you were in the back yard.

“I was, now I’m not.” He replied tersely.

“Captain Winchester,” The Colonel stood with his cap under his arm. “I apologise, I was enquiring about your health. It’s good to see you looking so well.”

Dean almost huffed out an unamused laugh, but stopped himself as he realised who the Colonel was. The dark hair, the same blue eyes. The wings on his collar.

Dean’s mouth dried up and his eye widened. He tried to swallow but there was nothing there and he ended up gasping. “You are… You’re him.”

Before Cas got the chance to answer, Dean had swung the chair around and wheeled out of the room. They heard a door slam from another part of the house.

“I’m sorry,” Mary said, rising from her seat to place a hand on Cas’ arm. “I don’t think he’s ready to talk about what happened. He’s only had one session with the therapist so far, and he’s just got these pills for his PTSD and depression…”

“Mary, it’s fine. I don’t know what I was expecting but at least I know he has family looking out for him.” Cas smiled and made a move to leave. “I should leave you in peace now. I’m staying at the Econo Lodge indefinitely should Dean want to speak to me.”

“Let me take your number, just in case.” Mary got a pen and pad of paper for Cas to jot his cell number down before thanking him for visiting and seeing him out.

As Cas drove back to his motel, he wondered if he’d made the right choice in visiting the Winchester house or if he’d just set Dean back in his recovery.

* * *

 

Dean holed himself up in the study/bedroom for the next few hours, refusing entry to his mother, homemade lemonade and baked goods.  

He didn’t know what was wrong, he didn’t know why he’d reacted the way he had and he didn’t know why his heart was still hammering in his chest an hour after the mysterious colonel had left the house.

A knock on the door broke his confused train of thought, followed by the appearance of his brother in the doorframe.

“So you had a visitor today?”

Dean took Sam’s question as rhetorical given that Sam knew full well about the visitor and that their dear mother had sent Sam in as soon as he’d gotten home to act as negotiator.

“It didn’t go well, I take it?”

“I don’t know, Sammy!” Dean snapped. “Is that what you want to hear? I don’t know what I’m feeling right now, I don’t know why I panicked and ran from the room, and no, I don’t want to talk about it.”

Sam held up his hands in surrender. “Okay, I just wanted to make sure you were okay but obviously you’re not.”

Dean sat up on the bed from where he’d been sprawled on his back. He ran his hands through his messed up hair for the dozen time that hour. Sam noted the redness of his brother’s eyes and the dried tracks of tears.

“I’m sorry, man. I just- I’m not ready for that. Him being here, it was like a reminder of what happened and it was real again, you know?”

Sam sat next to Dean on the bed and pulled him in for a one armed, side hug. “Yeah, I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for following this, for the Kudos and the love. I wasn't sure where I was going with this chapter but I think it's okay. I have some later chapters written which I'm quite excited about, but need to fill in the gaps first! Hope you've enjoyed x


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean visits Chuck again.

Dean had a scheduled visit with Chuck the next day. His session with Al in the morning was intense and left Dean feeling frustrated and exhausted, the pills Chuck had prescribed only added to his constant sluggishness, so when he arrived in the therapist’s office he could barely manage to wheel himself into place.

“How are you doing today, Dean?” Chuck asked, his bearded smile not quite reaching his eyes as he took in Dean’s defeated look. It was going to be a struggle getting much out of the guarded man in front of him at the best of times, but when Dean shrugged in response he knew today was a bad day and could only lead to a tough session.

Chuck mentally braced himself for any attitude his patient would produce. He asked about the anti-depressants and any side effects Dean was experiencing, and they agreed to adjust the dosage slightly to see if Dean might have a clearer head in the day whilst still getting the benefits of a sound sleep at night.

They moved on to what Dean had been up to in the few days between visits, and eventually the subject of Castiel Novak came up. Dean explained what had happened, and what he heard of the conversation between his mother and the colonel. With quite a great deal of prompting, Chuck learned how Dean had reacted and wanted to explore it in more depth.

“How did it make you feel when you were told you were being medically discharged from the Marines?”

Dean paused at the sudden change of topic from Colonel Novak’s visit to being discharged. “I, uh- I guess I was angry?”

“Why were you angry?”

“I guess I felt betrayed. I worked my whole adult life to serve and protect this country, then I get tortured and injured, and it’s like they just turned their back on me. Kicked me out on my ass with nothing to show for it but a busted up knee and a medal.” Dean’s voice was raised now, his hands balled into fists on the arms of his wheelchair. “I didn’t say squat when I was being beaten and starved, not one damn thing. And when I get home, I get a fucking bit of metal to keep in a drawer which is smaller than the pins holding my bones together!”

“Do you think you hold a grudge against Colonel Novak because he’s a Marine?” Chuck accused.

“What? No.” Dean snapped back.

“So it’s because he’s come back fit and healthy while you’re stuck in that chair?”

“No!” Dean slammed his fists against the offending chair’s handles. “You want to know why I did what I did? Because I was scared! Okay? I came back into the house and I heard that voice, the first American voice I heard in months back in that hell hole, and it was in my house. I grew up in that house, I feel safe there. But when he came in and was talking to my mom… I’ve tried so hard to forget about Afghanistan, but him being here- It felt wrong and I had to get away. So yeah, I was a dick to him and to my mom, but I’m not sorry about that.”

Dean’s anger, fear and frustration spilled over and he felt tears slowly rolling down his face. His tense shoulders dropped and he lowered his gaze to the floor, quietly whispering, “He came to me. Why did he come?”

Chuck rested his chin on the tips of his fingers, pondering the question. “You would have to ask him that, but I think you struck a chord in him. You were the lone survivor of a terrible attack on US troops and he worked extremely hard to coordinate a rescue mission. Towards the end no one knew if you were still alive, after they stopped sending videos of you… There would be the fear in the back of his mind that you’d broken or were already dead by that point. Yet, when he found you, you were not only still alive, but you also hadn’t given up. That’s impressive Dean, I’m certainly very proud to have you as a patient. I’m sure Colonel Novak just wanted to not only reassure himself that he had gotten you out, but that you were healing and cared for – the number of military personnel without anyone to come back to…”

Dean wiped the tears from his cheeks with one hand.

“Dean,” Chuck sighed. “You can’t forget about Afghanistan. I know you want to, but it’s something you have to face and work through if you want to get better.”

“I don’t know if I can.” It was true, Dean honestly didn’t think there would ever be a day when he wasn’t haunted by the lifeless faces of his team mates or the memories of the pain that was inflicted on him. Sure, it hadn’t been at the forefront of his mind recently but he had been focused on walking again, doing the exercises that Al had given him, and his mother tried to constantly occupy his mind with something. But in the dead of night when everyone else was sleeping, or if he let his mind wander too much during the day, that’s when the memories would take hold.

He could tell it was having an effect on his mom, it must be tiring trying to find something for your grown son to do all day while he’s stuck in a wheelchair so he doesn’t lose himself in memories of torture and death. It left him with a guilt that he had no way of righting.

“You can,” Chuck said firmly. “If you want to. It’ll be hard work. There’ll be good days and bad days, but you need to work at it and eventually you’ll be able to live with it, it’ll never go completely but it’ll be easier.”

Dean nodded in understanding.

“Good. So you’ll keep coming here twice a week, but I think it would be good for you to go to group therapy as well.”

Dean frowned. “No way! It’s one thing spilling my guts to you, but I’m not sharing with a room full of strangers.”

“Strangers who have experienced some of what you’re going through, who are going through the same struggles as you. There’s a group in Lawrence that meet one evening a week, all ex-military. I really think you should consider it.” The therapist handed him a flyer with the details of the meeting, shaking it until Dean accepted the flimsy bit of paper.

“I’ll think about it.” Dean said stuffing the flyer between his leg and the side of the chair.

“That’s all I ask.” Chuck smiled. “So we still have some time left on the clock, I’d like to explore something you mentioned last session.”

Dean cocked an eyebrow trying to recall what he’d let slip.

“Anxiety, stress and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder can all lead to erectile dysfunction.”

Dean blushed a deep red.

He was about to protest when Chuck cut him off. “How many times have you gotten an erection since coming back?”

“I dunno man,” Dean rubbed the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at the other man.

“I’m not here to judge, I’m here to help. So how many? Once a week? More?”

Dean shrugged a muttered response that didn’t quite reach the other’s ears.

“Pardon?”

“Less, I guess.” Dean said louder this time.

“Less than once a week,” Chuck made a note on his file. “Now Dean, I have to ask this. Did anything happen while you were taken prisoner, anything sexual or did they inflict any pain on your genitals?”

“No.”

“Good, that suggests it is the stress and anxiety, which will get better in time. The anti-depressants should start to help with that, but I want you to keep a mental note every time you get an erection and let me know if there’s any change.” Chuck said in all seriousness.

Dean couldn’t believe he was talking to another guy about his erections or lack thereof. Yeah, it had been niggling away at him that he didn’t feel the need to jerk one out every morning but he’d had a lot on his mind.

He zoned back in as Chuck was describing some relaxation techniques to help with his anxiety issues when outside or in a new place.

With a promise to consider the group therapy sessions and to practise relaxing, Dean wheeled out of the office toward the hospital’s coffee shop where he could hide in a corner with a steaming cup of Joe until Sam arrived to take him home.


	7. Group

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's first support group session seems to go okay, but it does get him thinking and that is never a good thing.
> 
> WARNING: Mentions of suicidal thoughts at the end of this chapter so potential triggers.

It was inevitable that once Mary and Sam found out about the support group they would insist Dean give it a go, which was why he didn’t bring it up. He would have been in the clear if he hadn’t forgotten about the scrunched up bit of paper wedged into the crevice between his chair’s seat and arm where he’d hastily shoved it during his session with Chuck. It would have been fine if his mother hadn’t needed to move the chair to get to a draw in the study-come-bedroom and caught a glimpse of the white flyer, a stark contrast to the dark charcoal grey of the chair. It may even have been fine if he hadn’t had a full on panic attack when a car backfired down the street and it took Sam fifteen minutes to talk him out of his hiding spot between the arm of the couch and the wall.

Half a week later Dean grumbled to himself as he rolled down the paved path towards the community hall from the car park, vowing that soon he would stop caving to the pressures of the only two people he’d never been able to say no to.

He felt a little gratification that he’d snapped at Sam as his little brother helped him from the car to the chair, stating that he didn’t need taking in to the building ‘like a damn child’ and he wanted picking up in an hour or else. It left a small smirk on his otherwise tense face as he hit the button on the building marked by a wheelchair symbol and watched the doors automatically swing open; the bitch face Sam had given him when he’d thrown his demands at his brother was a small win in an otherwise crappy situation.

The smirk slipped from his face as he struggled to push up the short ramp and into the building, his arms were nowhere near as strong as they should be for someone stuck in a chair thanks to his time as a prisoner of war, and it frustrated him that he was weaker than he could ever recall being. It took a lot of effort to hold his own weight on the parallel bars he used with Al for short amounts of time when they had tried standing for one whole minute in his last session, his good leg not being much help at holding his weight due to being inactive for so long and losing its muscle mass as well.

He grunted as he tried to push the last bit over the slight lip of the door frame.

“Here, let me help!”

Before Dean could turn and discover where the voice had come from, he felt a push from behind and he made it onto the flat of the hard hallway floor, tired and miserable from his defeat.

“What, not even a ‘thank you, Garth’?”

The voice was far too chipper for Dean’s current mood, and as the skinny man rounded the chair and into Dean’s line of sight, he noted the smile on the man’s face was also far too enthusiastic for Dean at the best of times.

“That’s okay, I’m just messing. Happy to help.” Garth continued without waiting for a response from the chair-bound man. “I’m Garth Fitzgerald, private first class. You’re new, right? Don’t worry, Group is great. I’ve been coming for around eight months now and it’s really helped.”

Dean followed the talkative man slowly through the noticeboard strewn corridor and through a set of big red double-doors to a large hall where several people were milling around chatting.

“There’s refreshments at the start and the end so you can mingle and get to know other people, everyone’s got their own thing going on but they’re a nice bunch for the most part. Our noticeboard’s the third on the right as you go back out,” Garth pointed back towards the corridor they’d just come through. “There’s never much on there, the odd social and occasional room change if the local drama group is putting on a show, but that’s only happened once so far.”

Garth paused his monologue and took a closer look at Dean.

“You’re Captain Dean Winchester, right? Thought I recognised that face from somewhere. It’s good to have you here man.” Garth’s tone was softer, only slightly, but noticeably different from his previous overly enthusiastic yammering.

Dean felt uncomfortable at having been recognised, of course he should have expected it what with his picture being plastered all over every news stand and TV station for the best part of four months, but it did leave him with the unsettling whispers of anxiety starting to creep over him.

Garth noticed the demeanour of the grumpy captain in the chair shrink slightly and quickly reverted back to his chatter.

“I’m heading back soon, got my medical next week and I’ve got high hopes.”

By the time the leader of the support group came to introduce herself to Dean, he guestimated Garth had been talking for almost seven minutes non-stop. Dean hadn’t said a word since the car park.

Meg was her name, she had a round face and dark brown hair that looked almost red in certain lights. She was probably the shortest person in the room, but the leather jacket she wore and the ‘don’t fuck with me’ stance she had going on made her seem like a much bigger presence. Dean suspected you wouldn’t want to cross her, but then they were all ex-military so it probably wasn’t wise to mess with anyone in the room, even tall, gangly, harmless looking Garth. Meg welcomed him to ‘Group’ and gave him an overview of what to expect, explained what is and isn’t acceptable behaviour and handed him a card with her phone number – ‘just in case’, said with a wink.

She moved away to start rounding people up to get themselves seated in the large circle of chairs.

Garth laughed loudly. “She says that to everyone, gets me every time. But in all serious, if you need to talk and your momma or the shrink ain’t the right person, you call Meg. She’s helped a lot of us through some rough patches.”

When everyone was seated, Dean in his chair in a gap between Garth and an older man with scars on his face, the room quietened and Meg began the session. Dean listened as she spoke to the room. He was grateful Meg had said she wouldn’t ask him anything directly tonight as it was his first time but if he had anything to add he should go ahead and say it. Dean had no intention of inputting anything to the session.

It was interesting listening to other people speak about their experiences, both good and bad, how they feel and how they’re moving on. Dean could relate to some of it and it made him feel a bit better. There were quite a few people there with varying degrees of PTSD, others with injuries that left them disabled in some way or scarred for life like the man next to him; they all had their struggles but it gave Dean hope to see them coping so well.

Meg kept the conversations on track and offered helpful advice along the way. It didn’t go unnoticed that she frowned when Garth was excitedly talking about his medical appointment and Dean felt a little saddened that she didn’t think his new ‘friend’ wouldn’t pass. He did learn that she had a prosthetic leg in one of the off-hand comments she made about her own progress – he never would have guessed.

By the end of the session Dean was feeling much better and glad he let his family persuade him to go, that is until Meg thanked him personally for coming and said she hoped to hear from him next week. That in itself seems innocuous, but the intakes of breath and quiet murmurs of recognition as she mentioned his name didn’t go unnoticed by the ex-Marine.

He felt the dark cloud of anger and frustration start to descend back over him as the session broke up and he headed for the door before anyone had a chance to talk to him.

“Hey, how’d it go?” Sam asked opening the passenger side door for Dean.

“Good, I guess.” He muttered sliding into the car.

Sam rolled his eyes as he folded the chair into the trunk, away from Dean’s view. He thought his brother was in the same foul mood with him about being forced to go to the support group.

* * *

Later that night, when Dean was alone in the bathroom he pulled himself up out of the chair painfully and looked in the mirror, he studied himself properly for the first time since the bruising had faded. He was skin and bone. His cheeks bones looked overly pronounced and his once sparkling eyes were dull and had dark bags under them. No wonder people didn’t recognise him straight away, not that he minded that, he preferred it. The only reason people recognised him in the street was because he was with his mom and they knew her locally; he was a ghost of his former self.

He hadn’t been eating right, he knew that. Even under the watchful eyes of his mother and brother he was still struggling to manage a great deal at any meal and he knew they wouldn’t push him too hard on that or the walking. But he could see why they were so concerned now, why they mothered him so much. He looked like crap. He looked ill.

He thought back to the reaction of the other people at the support group when they found out who he was, were they shocked to see him there? They knew his story, or at least the side reported in the media, would they judge him? Maybe they wouldn’t want him there. He decided he wouldn’t go back.

But then he thought of his mother and brother, doing their best to look after him because he needed looking after, needed to be watched and helped with everything. He was taking up all of their time, their lives. His mother hadn’t seen her friends for weeks. Sam hadn’t seen Jess in months.

Frustration and anger hit him hard like a punch to the gut. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair on his mother, it wasn’t fair on Sam and it wasn’t fair that he survived when his team, his friends were dead. He survived and got tortured, beaten and left to starve. Now he was bound to the confines of a damn wheelchair and making no progress. He kept having flashback and nightmares, despite the pills and he was no way near going on his road trip or getting a job or doing anything. They would all be better off if he hadn’t made it back.

His knuckles were white as they gripped onto the sink, holding him up. His arms shook from the strain on his unused muscles. Rage filled his vision and he swung an arm out sending the soap, toothpaste and toothbrushes flying. The toothbrush holder smashed on the wall, sending ceramic shards all over the floor.

Dean fell back into the chair crying with frustration. He vaguely noticed Sam rushing into the room and cradling his face, trying to dry his eyes and pulling him into the firm embrace he had become accustomed to in the last few weeks. Sam’s hugs were grounding, his arms were strong and wrapped all the way around him in a way that felt safe, protected. It helped him come back to himself.

“Dean, tell me you didn’t.” Sam whispered when Dean’s sobbing had calmed against his chest.

“Didn’t what?” He asked, pulling back to look at his brother.

Sam gestured down to the bright red blood seeping out of a small cut on Dean’s forearm.

“No! Dammit Sammy, I didn’t.” Dean held his other hand over the cut to stem the bleeding. “Must have been the holder.”

“Okay,” Sam replied passing him a towel and moving to start clearing up. “You’d talk to us if you started thinking about that, right?”

The look of worry, or maybe fear, on Sam’s face crushed Dean. He had just had that thought, hadn’t he?

Dean sighed, looking down at the towel he was holding to the cut. “I, uh. Sometimes I think you and mom would be better off if I hadn’t come back.”

He chanced looking up at his little brother, he expected to see scared Sam or sad Sam but that’s not what he got.

“Don’t you ever think that,” The taller man demanded. “We fell apart without you, Dean. When you were missing mom cried herself to sleep every night. I- I didn’t know what to do, I felt hopeless. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t been found, how we’d have coped. But you did come back and yeah, so we have to help you with a lot of things right now and we might be pushing you to do things but we just want to see you get better. So don’t you ever think we’d be better off if you hadn’t come back, we were a mess. I’d rather have you back like this than not at all.”

By the end of his speech, Sam had tears running down his cheeks as his voice was much louder than at the start. Dean was also crying again and reached for the other man. Sam knelt down in front of Dean’s chair and let himself be pulled into his big brother’s chest, like he did when he was a kid.

“I’m sorry, Sammy,” Dean whispered into the soft brown hair under his chin. “I don’t know what to do, I just want to be normal again.”

“Let us help, let Al and Chuck help, and go back to Group.”

Dean nodded against Sam’s head.

“And you were never normal, De.”

Dean huffed and squeezed his baby brother tighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realise I have been a very bad writer and not been updating regularly or thanking you for your lovely comments and kudos – I can only apologise! Work has been uber stressful and really busy but your love is getting me through, so thank you!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean has a good week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The majority of the chapter has been written for a week, but it's taken me ages to fill in the gaps - it's sort of a filler as we get to the good stuff, not sure I'm happy with it but let me know what you think x

After his outburst in the bathroom and talk with Sam, Dean did feel slightly better. The dark cloud covering him seemed to have lifted somewhat so he could breathe a little easier. He’s pretty sure Sam told their mom, or she’d overheard the commotion because in the morning he’s greeted by a worried looking Mary and the usual Winchester ‘birthday breakfast’, and it’s nowhere near anyone’s birthday. The only other times they’d had waffles when it wasn’t someone’s birthday was when their grandfather passed away and when John and Mary told the boys they were getting a divorce. That bad, huh? He offers his mother a smile and tucks into the homemade waffles with gusto none-the-less, not a grumble in sight.

Half an hour later he gets a call from Chuck. The man wants to know how he’s doing after his first support group session. Dean’s pretty sure Sam called the guy to update him on the previous night, but he plays along and even voices some apprehensions and concerns of his own.

“You know Dean, talking about these things to different people can really help.” Chuck says, the tell-tale sound of his pen scratching on paper echoes down the line.

“Yeah, I know.” Dean agreed. “I do feel better, less… angry.”

“Aside from the damage done, I think we can mark last night down as a positive step in the recovery process.”

Dean almost laughs at that.

“Honestly, if you keep opening up to your brother, going to Group and remembering to take the pills, you’ll feel a lot better before you know it.” Chuck paused. “There’ll be ups and downs, but as soon as you feel yourself dipping into that dark place again, you need to tell someone. Okay?”

“Sir, yes sir.”

Chuck chuckled, relieved at Dean’s good mood. He bid the younger man a good weekend before hanging up.

The weekend was quiet and without another incident like the one in the bathroom. Dean still had nightmares and felt anxiety creeping over him on more than one occasion, but he was determined not to take it out on his family and to let them know when he was feeling that way.

On Monday, Mary took opportunity of Dean’s good mood and decided on a trip to the mall for some much needed clothing that fit his now slight frame. Dean had been living in joggers as much as possible as he could get those on and off himself, and they had the benefit of a draw string waist so it wasn’t as obvious that they were at least a few sizes too big. When he’d gone to Group, Sam had helped him into a pair of jeans because he couldn’t hold himself up and pull the tough material up at the same time, much to both their embarrassment. But those jeans were far too big and would bunch uncomfortably as he fidgeted around in his chair.

They got to the mall just as it opened, and being a day when children were at school and most people were at work, it was thankfully quiet.

Mary quickly ducked into a store as Dean practised some of the relaxation techniques Chuck had told him to do when going to a new place for the first time. She was gone less than a minute and came back with a magazine in her hand, placing it on Dean’s lap before moving around to push the chair.

Dean took the magazine and looked at the cover, American Car. He smiled remembering his mother’s old trick to placate her children when she had shopping to do, although back then it would have been a comic rather than a car magazine. He spent the next twenty minutes flicking through the magazine as his mother pushed him from one store to the next.

When Mary finished her shopping, it was Dean’s turn. They were in the men’s section as Mary pulled out several pairs of jeans from the shelves, unfolding each one to hold out and examine.

“I think you’ll need to try them on.”

In the disabled changing room of the store, Mary helped her son out of the second pair of jeans they’d tried on. Dean was tired from having to hold himself up, braced on his chair and on one of the rails around the room, his mood had taken a sour turn and he was close to snapping.

He flopped back into his chair in his boxers, annoyed that both pairs of jeans they’d already tried had been too big. He wasn’t sure if he was annoyed at the jeans, the situation or himself as he ran a hand through his hair, sending spikes in different directions.

“Come on, one more pair then we’ll take a break.” Mary encouraged.

Dean nodded and lifted each foot as Mary gently removed the second pair of jeans from around his ankles and got his legs into the third. She allowed him the dignity of pulling the pants up as far as he could whilst seated before she took over – he’d tried shuffling into the first pair of jeans but it had failed miserably – gripping the waist band on both sides of her son, he lifted himself up from the chair as she tugged them up.

It was going fine until his right arm started to shake and his elbow gave way, he grunted as his hip hit the side of the chair hard enough to leave a bruise. Mary let go of the jeans quickly, moving her hands to his shoulders to steady him and make sure he was okay.

“Leave it!” He shouted, pushing her away. “Just stop.”

Mary moved back, tears in her eyes at the sudden outburst. Dean looked up and saw the hurt there.

“God, Mom. Sorry. I’m sorry. I just…” He looked down, ashamed.

“I know sweetie,” Mary took his hand, stroking it and slowly prying his fingers from the fist he’d made with it. “It’s frustrating.”

She put down that hand and did the same with the next, then gently massaged his hands until the tension dropped from his shoulders and he looked to have calmed down.

“Did I hurt you?” Dean asked, his voice almost a whisper.

“No, sweetie. I’m fine,” she smiled, stroking his cheek then tilting his chin up to look at her for confirmation. “Let’s try again, okay? If they fit you can keep them on and we’ll know what size to get in other pants.”

Dean nodded and braced himself on the arms of the chair.

“Three, two, one, go.”

Dean lifted himself off the seat, arms locked at the elbow to try and stay up as his mother quickly pulled the jeans up his legs and over his hips. Dean sat back exhausted but smiled at his mum with a sense of achievement.

“Who needs Sammy, right?” He teased, doing up the zipper and button on the jeans.

“Indeed.” Mary grinned. “So, how do they fit? They look good.”

Dean shuffled around in the chair trying them out. “I think we have a winner.”

“Thank God for that!” Mary smiled, sitting down heavily on the stool provided in the changing room. “Okay, grab me the tag so they can scan it at the till. Do you really want to keep these?”

Mary was holding up the old pair of jeans Sam had helped him into this morning, they had small holes in one of the knees and back pocket, and were faded in places.

“They’re my favourite jeans!” Dean admonished.

“They’re falling apart and you’ve got an oil stain on them that hasn’t washed out no matter what I try.”

“But they’re comfy and I’ll need my old jeans when I put my weight back on.”

Mary sighed in defeat, folding the jeans and putting them in her shopping bag before kneeling to put Dean’s boots back on. She was worried about her son, the new jeans were several sizes smaller than his old ones and he was struggling to put on any weight. She made a mental note to call her friend who was a nutritionist for some advice.

“You’re a stubborn old mule, Dean Winchester. Come on, let’s go grab some more pants and go get a coffee.”

They left the mall just before the lunch rush with two pairs of jeans, a new pair of joggers, two pairs of lounge pants (seriously comfortable but deny all knowledge if asked), two packs of boxer briefs and several t-shirts.

When they got back to the house Dean changed into a pair of navy and grey check lounge pants and a new grey t-shirt. As he wheeled passed the full length mirror in the hallway, he stopped to see how he looked. Yeah, he was still thin and his bones jutted out at his collar and elbows, but he no longer looked like he was drowning in the clothes he wore. It was something.

The rest of the week continued along the same course. Dean’s positive attitude made him more determined and more open in his sessions at the hospital, with both Chuck and Al seeing a great improvement. Al had even speculated that he might nearly be ready to try crutches at home for short amounts of time. It had even had a good influence on his appetite; he was very pleased with himself when he almost managed to eat a whole homemade burger and a handful of fries at dinner one evening.

His good mood saw him back at Group on Friday night only slightly reluctantly. He’d called Meg the night before, at Sam’s insistence, to let her know about his breakdown after the last session and to talk through his concerns. She reassured him that it was a safe environment and she wouldn’t push him to say anything he wasn’t comfortable sharing.

The meeting was in a different room to the previous session due to some sort of performance by the local dance school, which was in full flow when he arrived. This room was around the back and much smaller than the main hall. It was cosy. Meg started the session then went around the room asking people how their weeks had been.

“How’s your week been since we saw you last, Dean?”

Suddenly realising she was address him, he thought about it for a second too long.

“Start with something positive,” Meg prompted.

Aware of all eyes on him, Dean sucked in a deep breath then began, eyes trained on the floor. “I went to the mall with my mom, it’s the first time I’ve been where there are lots of people without freaking out. I uh- It’s been a good week. Better than it’s been for a long time.”

He risked glancing up at Meg, who nodded for him to continue. He could feel the tips of his ears burning under the attention of the others in the room, but everyone looked encouragingly or understandingly back at him so it wasn’t too bad.

“I’ve been talking to my brother, about everything, and I haven’t had a really bad day in a week. I think it’s helping. Plus, my physio says I should be ready to try crutches soon, get me out of this chair for a bit so that’s something.”

“That’s great news Dean, thank you for sharing.” She smiled and moved on to the next person in the circle.

Dean could tell she was pleased that he’d contributed at all, but knew she was going easy on him. She pushed other people a lot more for information and ‘feelings’, maybe she was lulling him in to a false sense of security.

The woman currently speaking was cut off by the doors to the small room banging open, everyone turned to face the newcomer.

“I’m sorry I’m late, I couldn’t find the right room.”

The hairs on Dean’s arms stood to attention and his mouth went dry as the gravelly voice filled the room. Lifting his head to the door, his green eyes met blue and it felt like his heart stopped beating. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean has a panic attack at the support group meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had an issue with Word and lost most of this chapter so had to re-write it :( 
> 
> Thanks again for the comments and Kudos - you guys are the best. Hope you enjoy x

_ “I’m sorry I’m late, I couldn’t find the right room.” _

_The hairs on Dean’s arms stood to attention and his mouth went dry as the gravelly voice filled the room. Lifting his head to the door, his green eyes met blue and it felt like his heart stopped beating._

  
Part of him knew his mouth was gaping open as he stared at the intruder – because that’s what he was doing, intruding on Dean’s healing time – but it was beyond his control as his body had yet to determine whether fight or flight was the best option. He was frozen in place. Adrenaline coursed through him as the sound of blood seemed to rush through his ears.

There was talking and Novak was moving forward to take a seat in the circle but Dean didn’t hear what was being said. He followed the older man’s movements, aware that the Colonel hadn’t spotted him yet. He should be looking for an escape route or coming up with a plan but his brain was giving him the blue screen of death.

Blue. No it wasn’t the blue screen of death, Colonel Novak had turned in his direction and had his eyes fixed on Dean. They were blue, his brain finally supplied. The man’s face lit up, smiling at first, then it dropped, concerned. He was speaking and moving towards him in slow motion.

Noise and movement suddenly hit Dean like a shockwave. His body choose flight as its best defence mechanism; he tried to get away. White knuckles gripped the wheels of his chair, pushing back to get away from the noise, the confusion. He was stuck, the wheel caught on the leg of the chair next to him.

Meg was at his side before Novak got there, “Hey, hey. Dean, breathe okay? Calm down.”

He was hot and sweating but his mouth was dry as a bone. He was back in his cell surrounded by his tormentors who were ready to start inflicting more pain and suffering on him. In his confusion he lashed out trying to push everyone away, he caught Meg square on the arm. She winced in pain and moved back out of striking distance.

“Dean, you’re safe here.” Meg continued trying to focus him from afar.

The person sitting on the chair Dean’s wheel had caught on got up to give the guy the vital space he needed, however with the sudden loss of weight on the chair to ground it and the force of Dean’s backward thrusts, both the chair and wheelchair toppled backwards and Dean landed with a heavy thud on his back. He rolled to the side on instinct, vision and judgement still clouded in confusion and panic. Then a great weight pressed against his back, then pulling him up.

Dean’s head started to clear as a rough voice was whispering calming words into his ear. His back was held against a warm body, and his arms were crossed over his own chest being held firmly in place so he couldn’t cause any more damage. His breathing was ragged and he could taste the salt from his tears in his mouth. He recognised the voice as the Colonel’s and suddenly he felt safe again after his panic. His confused brain telling him that it was okay now, he can relax because he’s been rescued.

Cas felt the tension seep out of the younger man’s body as it relaxed into his chest, and Dean’s heart beat was slowing to a normal speed. He loosened his grip on the Captain’s arms and let them drop to his sides.

“I’m afraid this is my fault, I shouldn’t have come.” Cas says quietly looking down at the exhausted man resting against him, only Dean and Meg were within earshot as the rest of the group had moved to the coffee and cake table out of respect.

“What are you talking about?” Meg asked.

“I was the one that found him,” Cas replied solemnly.

He didn’t need to say anymore, Meg knew the story as well as the next person, but it was news to her that this new (and incredibly hansom) member of their group was the one who had rescued Dean from capture.

“How you doing Deano?” Meg asked as Dean’s eyes started focusing on her.

Dean shifted forward, suddenly aware of the intimate position he was in with the man sitting behind him. “I’ve been better.”

“Been a helluva lot worse as well, right?” Meg smirked.

“Something like that.” Dean muttered, grunting as Meg and Cas helped him back into his righted chair.

“I should go,” Cas said turning to leave.

“No,” Dean cried after the retreating form. “I- I wasn’t expecting to see you here is all.” Truth be told, he found the man’s presence reassuring after his panic attack.

The Colonel turned back to face Dean, hesitantly moving back to the group. “If I’m going to make you uncomfortable…”

Dean shook his head no.

“Dean, are you okay?” Meg asked softly. “Do you want to stay for the rest of the meeting or go home?”

“I think I want to go home,” Dean replied just as quietly. “My brother won’t be here for another forty minutes.”

“I can take you if you want?” Cas asked.

Dean nodded. “I’m sorry. Sorry for hitting you, Meg. Sorry for causing a scene.”

Meg chuckled, “Oh sweet cheeks, I’ve had mortar shrapnel in my chest, I’m sure I’ll survive a bruised arm.” She was still concerned about Dean, he seemed to be feigning calm but she could see the tell-tale tremors in his hands. “Give me a call later or on the weekend, okay?”

Dean nodded, apologising to Meg again before letting the Colonel wheel him out of the room. The rest of the tension that had been holed up in his body seemed to release as soon as they hit the fresh air outside.

Cas wheeled him up alongside a Lincoln Continental, ignoring the look of disgust on Dean’s face as he helped the injured man into the car.

“I wouldn’t have gone tonight if I knew you were going to be there.” Cas said two minutes into the journey back to Mary’s house.

“Trying to avoid me Colonel?” Dean asked, a teasing smile on his face.

“Your bravado means nothing after what I witnessed tonight, Captain.” Cas snapped back.

“No, don’t hold back on my account. Please do tell me how you really feel.”

Cas frowned. “I don’t take your emotional wellbeing lightly, Dean. I know you need to heal and my being there will not help matters.”

“It’s not you man, it’s just… I didn’t expect to see you in my house and now here… you keep throwing me off balance, man.” He ran a nervous hand through his sweat-coated hair.

“I apologise, it is not my intention to do so.”

“S’not your fault, it’s my shit to deal with.” Dean sighed, looking out of the window at the passing cars. “I guess I was a bit shocked to see you. Then when I got stuck I panicked.”

There was a heavy silence as Cas waited for Dean to continue.

“I was back there, it felt real again.” Dean sighed. “I think my shrink would tell me some BS about it being good for me, to confront my memories of Afghanistan.”

“I believe he might be right, in the end we always have to deal with our memories in one way or another.”

Dean huffed, “If you want to keep coming to Group then it’s fine by me. You actually pulled me out of my head so, I guess what I’m trying to say is, thanks. For that. I don’t know why but, yeah. You helped.”

Cas nodded, “You’re very eloquent when you’re embarrassed.”

“Shut up.”

Cas smirked but drove in silence for the rest of the short journey.

To say Mary and Sam were surprised to see Dean being wheeled into the house half an hour before Sam was due to collect him was an understatement. Sam was on the phone to Jess but quickly ended the call, shouting out for his mother.

“Dean, what happened?” Sam asked, putting the phone back in the bracket in the hallway as Mary came rushing down the stairs.

His mother took one look at the pale complexion and sweat spiked hair before crouching, taking his face in her hands, her thumbs stroking over his cheeks gently.

“Sweetheart, what happened?”

“Mom, I’m okay.” Dean reassured, bringing his hands up to cover hers. “Just a panic attack, I’m fine now.”

With a final stroke of her thumb across his cheek, Mary stood and turned to her youngest son. “Sam, why don’t you help Dean to his room to change?”

Dean was grateful for his mother’s careful wording in front of the Colonel, the man did not need to know that Sam would be helping him out of his jeans and into sweats.

Mary gestured Cas towards the kitchen and offered him a drink.

“Thank you for bringing him home,” she reached into a cupboard for four mugs. “I haven’t seen him so shaken before.”

“I’m afraid it might have been at my doing,” Cas replied soberly. “He was a little shocked to see me at the meeting tonight.”

Mary turned from the coffee machine and put her hands on her hips. “Nonsense. It doesn’t take a lot to set him off at the moment, I’m sure it wasn’t entirely your doing.”

“His wheelchair got caught on another chair and he couldn’t get away, I take responsibility for him feeling the need to get away in the first place.” Cas paused. “He said he was back there. He had a flashback.”

Mary’s forehead wrinkled between the eyebrows in the same way her younger son’s does when he’s concerned. She sighed. “He’s had such a good week.”

The coffee machine beeped and Mary turned back to it to pour out the drinks.

“So you’re Colonel Novak?” Sam asked, leaning on the door frame.

“That is correct, but please call me Cas.” He held out his hand to the tall man. “It’s nice to meet you Sam.”

Sam grasped the offered hand firmly, smiling. “It’s really good to finally meet you. We’re so grateful for what you did.”

“As I’ve told your mother, it was my duty and anyone else would have done it had I not been there.” Cas accepted the coffee from Mary and looked down intently at it, suddenly finding it fascinating.

Cas was used to barking out orders and taking command of dangerous situations, he was not used to social interaction with civilians and found it disconcerting that the attention was focused on him in this way. He could brief a room full of Marines, subordinates and commanding officers, but put him in a social situation and he felt like a fish out of water.

Thankfully Dean wheeled into the kitchen at that moment in a clean t-shirt and pair of sweatpants, taking the focus from him.

Dean wasn’t surprised to see Cas still there talking to his family, sipping on a coffee out of a ‘Property of US Air Force’ mug – Sam had gotten Dean a collection of other military divisions and public service agency mugs one Christmas as a joke.

“How’re you doing now Dean?” Sam asked, ‘Property of NYPD’ mug in hand.

“Better.” He moved toward the table and accepted a cup of steaming coffee from his mom (‘Property of US Navy Seals’). He still felt shaky and a bit anxious but he did feel better in sweat free clothes and having splashed cool water on his face. “I didn’t say thanks for the ride, Sir. I appreciate it.”

“Don’t mention it.” The dark haired man looked up from his coffee, catching Dean’s gaze and holding it for a fraction of a second too long before looking back down at his coffee, a slight pink tint to his cheeks. “Please call me Cas.”

“Is that short for something?”

“Castiel,” he found himself looking into those big green orbs of Dean’s again. “It’s my middle name, my father was a professor of theology and had a fondness for that particular angel. My given name is James, Jimmy to my family. When I signed up there were three other James Novaks of varying rank already, James, Jimmy and Jim were ‘assigned’ so to speak. To avoid confusion I started going by Cas and it just stuck with me.”

“Huh,” Dean said. “I met Jim Novak once, terrible guy. Couldn’t hit an elephant at point blank if he tried.”

Castiel had no response Dean’s comment, not having known the other men of his name. The room filled with an awkward silence.

“I should be leaving now.” Cas said setting his empty mug on the table and rising from his position at the table. “Thank you for the coffee, Mary. It was good to meet you Sam. Dean, perhaps I will see you at the next meeting.”

Mary walked him out, thanking him again for bringing Dean home.

“I could listen to him for hours,” Mary practically swooned walking back into the kitchen.

Dean rolled his eyes but had to admit the deep roll of Cas’ voice did have a soothing quality to it. Sam just laughed at their mother’s comment, collecting the used mugs and depositing them in the dishwasher.

As Dean slept that night he didn’t dream of his teammates’ lifeless faces, of explosions or torture, he dreamt of blue eyes and dark hair. When he woke at 4am tangled in his sheets he didn’t panic at the constriction as he usually would, instead he felt comforted. He fell back asleep cocooned safely in the imaginary arms of a faceless stranger.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, sorry, sorry! It's been ages since I last posted even though I've had this chapter written and ready to go for weeks - damn anxiety and depression! But enough about me, let's get back to Dean...

Dean allowed himself a split-second of disappointment when Meg brought the support group meeting to a close and the Colonel still hadn’t shown. It had been two weeks since the meeting where Cas had unintentionally triggered Dean’s panic attack and he had hoped to get the chance to see the guy again to prove he wasn’t a total mess. He also wanted to prove to himself that he was getting better and could stay in control of his anxiety and fears.

There were a few instances in the last two weeks that had Dean convinced he’d regressed a few weeks, losing all his hard work with a flashback or anxiety attack. But overall, both Chuck and Al were happy that he was improving at a good rate, and he’d been given a set of crutches to use in the house when he felt up to it. It was a small win.

“Dean,” Meg called through the small crowd to stop his escape.

He waited in place for the brunette to catch him up instead of trying to turn around, mentally calming himself down as people brushed past him.

“Good session tonight,” She smiled walking around into his line of sight. “You seem a lot better.”

Dean huffed out a self-deprecating laugh. “Yeah, right.”

“Don’t do that Winchester,” Meg frowned. “You’re getting better. So you’ll never be 100% you again, but you’ll get close. Every single person here is still working through their shit, some have been coming for years. 98% of the time they’re hunky dory.”

Dean scowled. “I don’t do hunky dory.”

“Trust me, I’m a doctor.”

“And I’m Taylor Swift.” He cocked an eyebrow, challenging her statement.

Meg smirked and started walking away. “I like you, Winchester. You’re good people.” 

Dean smiled and started pushing himself toward the door, a second later Garth was at his side. They walked, or wheeled in Dean’s case, in silence through the corridor towards the exit of the building.

“I’m sorry,” Dean said as the younger man held the door open for him. “About the medical, you know.”

Garth had revealed earlier that he’d failed his medical and was being retired from the army.

“It is what it is,” he sighed. “Like my mama always said, when one door closes you better grab that bull by the horns so it don’t crash through the wall and make another one.”

“That makes no sense.”

Garth laughed. “I know, right? She got a bit confused over analogies but the sentiment was there.”

Dean coasted down the ramp and along the path, making the other man jog to catch up. “So what are you going to do now?”

“Maybe go to school. Go back home… I always fancied being a dentist.” Garth mused. “How about you?”

Dean was surprised at the question. It was the first time anyone had asked about his future, it was the first time he’d had to consider what he was going to do now he’d been discharged from the Marines. Everyone’s focus was on getting Dean back to ‘normal’ but no one had thought about what happens after that, at least they hadn’t said it out loud.

“I have no idea, man.” Dean shrugged. “Haven’t thought about it. I mean, I want to go on a road trip around the US as soon as I’m cleared to drive but after that…”

“Well you can’t do nothing for the rest of your life.” Garth stopped next to his pickup truck. “It’s been nice knowing you, Dean.”

“You too, stay out of trouble.” Dean smiled and offered his hand.

Garth pushed the hand aside and leant down to hug Dean. It took Dean a second to realise what was happening, but he eventually patted the younger man’s back with a smile.

“I hope you’re back on your feet soon,” Garth said pulling back. “I’ll be calling to see how you’re doing.”

Dean waved Garth off as the pickup sped out of the car park before turning to wheel across to where Sam was leaning against Dean’s 67 Chevrolet Impala.

“Dude, you drove my car!” Dean cried out chasing his brother away. “What the hell?”

“I thought you’d be missing her! Bobby dropped her by tonight, said she was good as new but was taking up too much room at the yard.” Sam laughed running around to the other side of the trunk to put a barrier between himself and his older brother. “He said now you were home you could look after your own ‘damn car’.”

Dean scowled at Sam before focusing on the beauty before him. He lovingly ran a hand over the gleaming black paintwork. Despite Bobby’s gripes he had looked after the car and kept her in top condition, he’d even given her a fresh wax before bringing her back. In Dean’s eyes that was a close enough confession of caring than any words spoken out loud. He was glad to see Baby again, she always calmed him down if he was in a bad mood, but that was when he could drive her. It was a bittersweet homecoming.

“Not much use if I can’t driver her or work on her.” Dean muttered balling his hand into a fist.

He hadn’t noticed Sam walk back around the car to stand next to him until a strong hand squeezed his shoulder.

“You can still work on her, maybe with some help.” Sam smiled hopefully. “You always said you’d teach me how to look after her.”

Dean hummed thoughtfully. It would be a risk letting Gigantor under her hood, but with some close supervision it could work.

“Do you want to take her for a spin?”

“Sure,” Dean relented. “But take it easy on the gas, I know how heavy footed you are Sasquatch.”

The drive did have a calming effect on Dean, even if he wasn’t the one behind the wheel. He sat with his head resting on the back of the seat, eyes closed just listening to the purr of the engine. The only times he spoke were to comment on Sam’s driving technique. He did feel a little bad about critiquing his brother when Dean had been the one to teach him to drive in the first place and he was doing Dean a favour, but this was his Baby and Sam had never been allowed to drive her before so needed to take extra care in Dean’s opinion.

They drove for about 45 minutes before Sam pulled into a diner carpark. It was another thirty minutes home and Sam’s stomach was growling.

The diner was bright but quiet, which Dean was thankful for. They sat at a large booth along the front window and ordered two coffees and a stack of waffles to share, extra maple syrup and extra bacon.

It didn’t skip Sam’s attention that Dean was on edge, he sat stiffly on the bench seat and his eyes darted around the room rarely focusing back on Sam for more than a few seconds at a time. The younger Winchester talked to distract Dean from the sounds and movements of the room, he told him about work and his boss’ new baby granddaughter, and talked about the case he was working on. Eventually he turned the conversation to Jess.

“She’s still looking for jobs down here, but there’s not much out there at the moment.” Sam sighed.

“Great girl like her, she’ll find something soon.” Dean replied eyeing the waitress walking towards them with their food and drinks. He physically shrank into his seat when she brushed his arm as she placed the coffee mug on the table for him.

Sam’s heart gave a stab of pain for his brother. This was Dean’s life now; he’d fought for his country, watched his friends die in the name of freedom and now he was emotionally wrecked, permanently scarred and flinched at any contact with strangers. This was not the Dean he’d waved off on his first tour, nor his second.

“I hope so,” Sam continued trying to get Dean to refocus. “She’s got a week off at the end of the month, was thinking of visiting. What do you think?”

Dean had only met Jess once before, and he really liked her, he did. But having her in his house, his space… he wasn’t sure if he was ready for that just yet.

He paused to think a little too long.

“Dean?”

“Um, yeah. Sounds good.” He ducked his head to take a bite of waffle, avoiding Sam’s gaze. “But, uh, why don’t you take a trip out there? You’ve got to be sick of living at home again, and looking after my sorry ass. Take a break, me and Mom will survive.”

Sam looked a little taken aback and a little concerned. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah man, you deserve it.” Dean smiled, finally looking up at Sam. “Besides, we don’t want to hear you catching up on lost time.”

Sam choked on a bit of bacon and started hitting his chest to dislodge it. That and the deep flush of embarrassment on Sam’s cheeks caused Dean to almost hyperventilate with laughter, tears forming at the corners of his eyes as he completely relaxed and let go for the first time in months.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary calls in a favour with Cas forcing our two favourite boys to make small talk.

_Thud. Thud. Step. Drag. Breathe._

_Thud. Thud. Step. Grunt. Drag. Breathe._

Cas watched as Dean slowly made his way out of the makeshift bedroom, strong arms taut as they moved the crutches forward one small step at a time. The younger man’s eyebrows were knitted together in concentration and determination, and quite possibly in pain at the noises accompanying each drag of Dean’s bad leg. He kept his gaze down, assessing each pace before he took it.

It had been almost two months since the Colonel last saw Dean Winchester. Back then the man had been confined to the wheelchair, thin as a rake and needed help with the simple task of changing his pants. This Dean Winchester moving at a snail’s pace across the hallway was a stark contrast to the one Cas thought he would encounter. Dean had filled out a bit, thanks in part to Mary’s cooking and the weight training exercises his physio forced him into, he was still lean but the small but defined muscles in his arms and chest made him look much healthier. Now standing, it was obvious he still had a lot of weight left to gain by the way the chequered lounge pants hung low on Dean’s hips, a slither of pale skin appearing every time Dean’s t-shirt rose as he stretched the crutches forward to take his step showing how thin he was hidden under the grey material.

Cas caught himself staring and quickly turned his attention back to the cup of coffee in his hands. Dean’s progress across the hallway and into the kitchen was excruciatingly slow for the older man who sat at the table waiting for the penny to drop.

He had received a call from a frantic Mary an hour previously asking if he could drive Dean to his appointments at the hospital because Sam was in California with his girlfriend and Mary needed to cover a friend’s shift at the store at late notice due to a family emergency, from what Cas could make out of her babbling. He agreed after reassurance that Dean would be fine with the arrangements, ‘no, there really is no one else available’ and the promise of a home cooked meal later that evening. He did have his suspicions that Mary might not have tried all of her friends or relatives first but he was willing to overlook that for some home cooking.

So here he was, sat in the Winchester’s kitchen with an almost empty cup in his hand, a list of appointment timings and some dos/don’ts laid out on the table next to him, and the lingering feeling that he should be preparing himself for something to go drastically wrong. He really shouldn’t have agreed to come, he just couldn’t seem to form the word ‘no’ when Mary had asked so desperately. He was doing this for Dean’s benefit after all.

Dean didn’t look up from his mission until he was leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen; on seeing Cas there instead of his mother, surprise then confusion flashed across his face before a pink hue settled into place on his freckled cheeks as he realised the Colonel had witnessed the entire charade that was his morning walk.

“Your mother had to cover someone’s shift at a store somewhere,” Cas said ignoring Dean’s embarrassment. “I didn’t catch the details. She asked me to drive you to Topeka in Sam’s absence.”

“And you just happened to have nothing on today?” Dean questioned, somewhat accusingly.

Cas frowned at Dean’s sudden change, then suddenly stood and moved over to the sink. “My plans were flexible.” He filled a glass of water and shook some pills out of a pot into his hand before moving over to Dean. “Pain killers and anti-depressants.” He placed the pills in Dean’s upturned hand, waiting as the other man shoved them into his mouth before handing over the glass of water. “Breakfast is in the oven keeping warm. Your mother warned me you’d be grumpy before your meds and food."

Dean chugged the water back, swallowing the cocktail of pills before handing the glass back. When Cas didn’t move out of his personal space, Dean showed his empty mouth like a child would to prove they had swallowed everything.

Cas hummed thoughtfully to himself before moving away to get their pre-prepared breakfast out of the oven. This gave Dean enough time to shuffle over to the table and get comfy.

“So what are you doing in Lawrence?” Dean asked a short time later, drizzling more maple syrup over his bacon and pancakes.

“I was working at the recruiting office,” Cas replied. “But I retired from the military some weeks ago and start working at the local high school next week.”

“Gym?”

“History.”

“Huh,” was all Dean replied with, stuffing more pancake into his mouth.

“Does that surprise you?” Cas tilted his head to the side slightly. “You know nothing about me.”

“True, just figured that’s all we’re good for after the front line – gym teachers.” Dean ducked his head down away from Cas’ intense gaze. “If you’ve got the legs for it.”

“I’m sure there is more to being a gym teacher than ‘having the legs for it’.” Cas paused, taking in the figure in front on him who seemed to have hunched in on himself in, what? Self-doubt? Self-consciousness? “You can do anything you set your mind to.”

Dean pushed away from the table and grabbed his crutches. “I’m going to get ready, we should leave soon.”

Nodding, Cas finished his breakfast while watching Dean retreat back to his room.

Close to forty five minutes later Cas and Dean sat in silence on the road out of Lawrence, Dean staring out of the passenger window at nothing in the distance while Cas’ eyes flicked between the stoic man beside him and the road every few minutes or so. It was as if a switch had been flicked and their somewhat awkward back and forth earlier was now off the cards completely, leaving Castiel to stew over what he’d said to upset the former Captain. The ball was in Dean’s court so to speak and the older man respected that, with worried sidelong glances and nervous hands clenching on the steering wheel.

Once they arrived at the hospital Cas set up Dean’s chair in the parking lot and hooked the crutches over the back so Dean would have both with him. Dean shifted himself over to the chair and wheeled off without a backward glance.

“I’ll see you at two thirty!” Cas called after the retreating figure. Dean’s half-hearted attempt at a wave, or was it a dismissive gesture, was enough to know he’d heard. Cas sighed, this wasn’t going well at all.

At 2.30pm on the dot Dean exited Chuck’s office and almost ran straight into Cas, who quickly jumped out of the way.

“Sorry,” Dean said breaking sharply causing the crutches on his lap to clatter to the floor. “I’m really sorry. Are you okay?”

Dean’s eyes were red-rimmed and his cheeks were flushed as if he’d been crying a short while ago, it seemed to Cas that this only served to make the green of his irises even brighter if that were at all possible.

“I’m fine,” he replied, concern written all over his face as he reached down to pick up the metal crutches. “Are you?”

Something akin to confusion crossed Dean’s features. “Yeah, I’m good. I’m sorry for almost mowing you down.”

Castiel was learning quite quickly that Dean Winchester’s attitudes changed like the weather – this morning determined and almost open to friendship, then closed off from everything in the blink of an eye – after his sessions with his therapists he seemed raw, open and almost timid.

Dean swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down with the movement. Cas realised he’d been staring for too long and it seemed to be making Dean nervous.

“You’ve already apologised,” Cas broke the gaze and stated moving toward the exit, crutches still in his grip. “There really is no need.”

They walked in silence to the car and again drove in silence, although the air was less tense than the previous journey.

“Thanks for driving me today,” Dean spoke up after about fifteen minutes, finally turning from the window. “I know I can be a pain in the ass sometimes.”

Cas smirked. “Sometimes?”

“Yeah, yeah. I get it.”

“How were your sessions?”

There was a pause where Cas thought he’d suddenly overstepped the invisible mark again and he cringed. Dean let out a quiet huff, barely audible over the sounds of the car.

“Fine, I guess.”

There really wasn’t much Cas could say to push the matter without prying into things that really were not his business, so he remained silent hoping Dean would elaborate or at least pick another topic of conversation.

“So why history?” Dean asked after a few minutes granting Castiel’s wish.

“I like history, I enjoyed it at school and studied it in college.”

“I never liked history.”

“There is a lot we can learn by looking at the way things played out in the past and mistakes made by previous generations.” Cas replied. “It’s interesting.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Dean drummed his fingers on the ledge of the passenger-side door giving the future teacher the impression of a distracted school boy. “What’d you find to do in Topeka?”

It was not a subject Castiel had prepared to speak about, his whereabouts while Dean was at the hospital, and was reluctant to go into much detail. “I visited an old friend,” was all he could come up with.

Dean regarded his travelling companion with curiosity – the way his fingers turned white as they tensed on the steering wheel and the way his forehead wrinkled as he frowned at the unexpected question – yep, he was definitely hiding something he didn’t want to talk about and that instantly made Colonel James ‘Castiel’ Novak the most interesting thing in Dean’s life right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was supposed to post this last week but really didn't like the last few paragraphs #rewrite   
> More Cas and Dean interaction to come (this story will start to pick up now that the boys are being forced to hang out) - hope you enjoy x


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, you guys are the best! I’ve had some great feedback from you and it’s pretty overwhelming. I’m glad some of you think I’m hitting the nail on the head (so to speak) with Dean’s PTSD. To answer your questions, I have done a fair bit of research into PTSD and have tried to take Dean’s reactions to situations from the show and incorporate that into how I think his PTSD might manifest, but I don’t have any first-hand experience – I do apologise if at any point it doesn’t seem quite right, let me know because I don’t have a beta and can always re-write if it doesn’t seem genuine. I have recently been diagnosed with anxiety and depression so am using some of my own (newly realised) feelings and emotions to help shape Dean. Please keep the feedback coming and enjoy some more Dean and Cas interactions (if you can with this chapter, I’m sorry already).
> 
> **WARNING**: Mentions of 9/11, the war on the Taliban, suicide, brain injury and implied suicide bomber.

When something sparked Dean Winchester’s interest he was like a dog with a bone. In his youth it had been girls - Rhonda Hurley, Cassie Robinson, Lisa Braeden to name a few – which only ended in heartbreak, although more often than not it was Dean’s heart being trampled on. As he got older it was the idea of joining the Marines – fighting on the front line for his country, rising through the ranks, just like his daddy – which again ended in pain and heartache. His current focus had turned to his cross-country road trip – he had mentioned the idea to Chuck in a few of his sessions and the therapist agreed that it would most likely help Dean, once he was able to make the trip physically, to gain a sense of closure and aid in the healing process – but with all the planning under his belt, the trip was on the back burner until he could get behind the wheel of his pride and joy and drive off into the sunset.  So naturally he needed something else to distract him. Unfortunately that something was not playing ball.

“Old girlfriend?”

“No Dean.”

“Boyfriend then?”

Cas let out an annoyed huff. “No Dean.”

Driving along in the Colonel’s horrific Lincoln Continental, which Dean could only describe as beige in colour, the oldest Winchester tried to piece together everything he knew about Cas, which really wasn’t a lot. He liked history, he went to college, he was a retired Colonel and he was slightly older than Dean. It wasn’t a lot to go on at all.

Dean crossed his arms across his chest glaring out at the road ahead, frustrated that the other man was giving him nothing.

Cas smirked, the corner of his mouth turning up as he eyed Dean in his peripheral.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Cas replied steeling his grin. “Just…”

“Just what?” Dean bit, turning his head to face the driver.

“You’re acting like a child, I was just going to ask if you needed a nap.” Cas smirked again at the death stare he could feel emanating from the passenger side of the car, he didn’t need to glance over to know it would be adorable.

Dean took the opportunity to study Cas for the first time since they’d met. The older man had dark hair flecked with the odd silver streak, which no doubt could be attributed to the years of stress as a Colonel on the front line, his skin was tanned from months spent under the harsh Afghanistan sun and a few days’ worth of stubble lined his angular jaw. The lines on his forehead between his brows spoke of someone who would frown in deep concentration, but the crow’s feet around his eyes gave hint to happier times, times when he would laugh and smile. Dean got the feeling that those days were long gone. The dark rings under his eyes only seemed to add to Dean’s impression of the tired soldier – did Cas always look this defeated?

“Did you get something to eat at the hospital or do you want to stop somewhere?” Cas interrupted, shocking Dean out of this thoughts.

Dean blushed realising he’d been staring and quickly turned to face the road again.

On receiving no answer Cas quickly glanced over at Dean.

“You know the tips of your ears go pink when you’re embarrassed.” Cas stated, eyes back on the road as if nothing was amiss.

“Huh? What?” Dean’s head whipped to Cas then back to the road again, his brain taking a while to catch up. “Oh, I grabbed a sandwich between sessions.”

Cas enjoyed flustered Dean, flustered Dean was amusing. He knew he shouldn’t toy with the guy but he was feeling playful after a rather crappy day and they still had roughly fifteen minutes left of the journey back to the Winchester house.

“We should play a game.”

“What, like I Spy?”

“No, I was thinking the question game. You ask a question, then I ask a question.” Cas explained. “It’s an ice breaker.”

“Dude, we’re not teenagers reading Cosmo for dating advice.”

“Fine. I’m thinking of an animal.”

“Alright, I’ll play your damn question game.” Dean threw up his arms, determined not to play twenty questions for the rest of the journey. “New Star Wars or original Star Wars?”

“Original, no contest. What did you want to be when you were a kid?”

“Batman. Then a Marine, like my dad. Cake or pie?”

“Homemade pie. Boxers or briefs?”

“Boxer briefs. Natalie Portman or Scarlett Johansson?”

“Are you really going to stick to either or questions?”

“Fine, first album you ever bought?”

“Michael Jackson’s Thriller, 1983.”

“Really?” Dean scoffed.

“I was nine and it topped the billboard chart for most of the year, I was the envy of all my friends. Of which I had two. What’s your biggest regret in life?”

“Getting a bit deep aren’t we?”

“Just answer the question Winchester.”

“Sir, yes sir.” Dean muttered. “Joining the Marines. What did you actually do today?”

“I told you, I visited an old friend. We served together in Kosovo in ’99 then again during Op Enduring Freedom.” Cas replied sadly.

“First ones in?”

“I believe it’s my turn to ask a question. What are you most proud of?”

“Sammy. He had a rough patch or two but he turned out alright in the end, got himself through college and law school.” Dean’s voice hitched slightly. “Cas, is your friend dead?”

“No. No he’s not.” Cas sighed, maybe it would help to talk to someone he thought. Maybe it would help Dean through his own issues. “Gabe Milton is the only other surviving member of my original team. We were the first ones in, Alpha Company, all hyped up and ready to bring down the Taliban after 9/11. Boys, some of them barely past training. Those first few months took their toll. The enthusiasm didn’t last long. Luke put a gun to his head six weeks in. We saw a lot of fucked up stuff but we didn’t think… never expected them to use a kid…”

“I’m sorry Cas,” Dean whispered.

“Gabe lives in Topeka, at a care home. His sister Anna visits every day; sometimes he knows who she is, sometimes he doesn’t.” Castiel’s eyes were glistening with unshed tears but none fell. “He remembered the captain’s name today when I took him to the memorial, found it on the wall. I guess it was a good day.”

Dean felt a tear run down his own cheek. Sure he’d seen things, experienced some goddamn awful things, but he still had his mind. That was something to be grateful for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’d like to just make a note about Dean in this AU and his approach to women (from the first paragraph). We all know canon Dean gets around and has slept with many, many women (mostly one night stands or very short flings), but I think this is a self-preservation technique brought on by being forced to move around all of the time and a need for affection. Dean in this AU has lived in Lawrence his whole life until joining the Marines and has gotten the affection from his family canon Dean seems to crave so hasn’t had to love ‘em and leave ‘em so to speak. I think both Dean’s fall fast and fall hard when they like someone, in this AU Dean has mistaken lust/like for love in past relationships and had his heart broken by women/girls who have used him for his looks (and his car no doubt) – he hasn’t experienced love properly. Rest assured, this is a Destiel fic. A long sloooooow burn Destiel fic.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Sam comes home with some news, Dean's anxiety kicks in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter starts with a nightmare and talk about torture/death. Mentions of suicidal thoughts but not in detail.

_It was hot and stuffy, he was covered in dust and dirt from the ground as he dragged himself over to the body of his friend they’d thrown back into the small room acting as their prison cell._

_“Harvelle!” Dean rasped, throat dry from dehydration. “Jo? You good?”_

_His friend groaned but managed a weak thumbs up from where she was curled around herself, their kidnappers preferring her abdomen and his knee as target practise; their weak spots._

_Dean breathed a sigh of relief. Every time they took Jo for ‘questioning’ Dean was afraid they wouldn’t bring her back, at least not alive. He wanted to clap her on the back but knew that would only cause more pain, he settled for sitting next to her against the wall and waiting for her to emerge from her ball._

_Eventually, minutes or hours he couldn’t tell, the blonde woman shifted. Moving slowly and carefully she manoeuvred herself into a sitting position beside Dean, wincing with each movement. She reached out and slid her hand into his, he squeezed it gently in response._

_“Soon Cap, it’ll be soon,” Jo whispered, her voice just as hoarse as his. “I heard them.”_

_He knew she’d be crying if they could have produced any tears at this point. He just squeezed her hand again and closed his eyes._

_He jumped as the heavy door hit the wall and a man threw a plate of food and a jug of water down at their feet, almost spilling the contents. Instead of their usual plate of bread was a rice dish with a creamy sauce and some sort of flat bread. They were being given their last meal._

Dean woke up gasping for air and covered in sweat, his heart trying to beat its way out of his chest. He’d had nightmares on and off since he woke up in hospital, but tonight was the first time he’d dreamt of that day. He’d dreamt of the explosion that overturned their truck and the gun fight that followed, he’d seen each and every lifeless face countless times as he slept and sometimes during the day, but not Jo. Never Jo’s. Why Jo?

Dean knew the TV channels had shown the footage of him and Jo being forced to read the demands of their captors, being hit or threatened with knives, swords or guns digging into their heads when they tried to refuse, he’d watched some of them back on YouTube against his better judgement. It had been good to see his friend alive again, but also upsetting knowing those were her last days, being beaten and tortured in a rat infested cell. They hadn’t shown that video though, the one Dean knew was recorded of Jo’s final moments because he’d been forced to watch, face held in place just to make sure he didn’t miss the blade impact with her neck.

Dean scrubbed the palms of his hands into his eyes willing them to forget her sad smile as she tried to straighten out her dirty blonde hair as they picked at their meal, joking half-heartedly about being camera ready. His hands came away wet as he realised he was crying, shedding the tears he couldn’t at the time.

“Hey Dean,” Sam’s soft voice interrupted his thoughts. “Want to talk about it?”

Sam moved over to the chest of drawers and got Dean a new t-shirt before sitting on the bed near his brother’s waist, the bed dipping with his weight. Dean sat up and allowed Sam to help him out of the sweat drenched top and into the clean one. It was easy to do in the dark, letting Sam take control and dress him like a child. The only light filtered in from the hallway where the door was cracked open slightly.

This was a routine firmly established over the last few months. Somehow either his mother or brother would hear or maybe sense his nightmares and would always be in his room with soft comforting words and to help him into a dry t-shirt shortly after he woke up. Part of Dean hated the vulnerability of it, the weakness. Part of him longed for the reassurance that he wasn’t alone in the dark with his thoughts on those nights.

He rarely spoke on these nights, letting his body language speak for him as he was normally too exhausted to do much more than be guided by the other person, and afraid of what he might say.

“Do you want to get up for a bit?” Sam asked.

Dean lay back down in response, curling into a ball on his side facing Sam and the light coming in through the door.

“Okay,” the younger Winchester patted Dean’s arm and settled more comfortably on the bed. He started chatting, quietly about everything and nothing at all. Keeping his voice low and calm, the aimless musings soothed the older brother back into a dreamless slumber.

* * *

  
When Dean talked it through with Chuck at his next session, the man told him that the new nightmare was his mind trying to process and cope with those memories, probably brought on by something that was changing in his life or routine at the moment that was concerning him or making him anxious.

It wasn’t until he was working on the Impala with Sam on Saturday a few days later that Dean realised what was making him feel that way.

The younger Winchester was currently sprawled across the floor, head and shoulders under the car as he worked. Dean sat in his wheelchair near Sam’s feet examining the worn brake pad in his hand. He could get around on his crutches for short periods of time on good days, on bad days his scarred hand would feel tight and ache, or his knee would throb constantly. Some days he just preferred the chair, almost like a safety blanket.

“You brake too hard,” Dean griped. “Bet the gear box’ll need replacing soon if you keep driving her.”

Sam rolled out from under the front of the car to glare at his brother.

“Bobby said those pads haven’t been changed for years and your precious gear box is doing just fine, I am not the problem here.” Sam wiped his hands on the front of his already oil stained jeans before snapping a picture under the car then holding up his phone for Dean to take, the screen showed the newly fitted brake pad in place. “I’m a good driver, and you know it.”

Dean huffed in disagreement but couldn’t find any fault with the job Sam had done to replace the pad. He threw the phone back at Sam.

“We’ll make a mechanic out of you yet.”

Sam grinned smugly at the praise, pocketing the phone and moving around the car to clear up. “At least I’ll have something to fall back on if I ever decide to leave the law firm.”

“Not likely,” Dean muttered under his breath with no hint of humour. “Got a house to buy and a wife to keep.”

Sam straightened up and turned to look at his brother with hurt and confusion written across his face. Dean’s eyes went wide at the realisation that those words had been said out loud.

The previous Sunday Sam had arrived back from his week with Jess bouncing like a puppy, Dean hadn’t seen him that happy in years and it annoyingly lasted the whole week. The news was that Jess had been offered a job at Lawrence Memorial Hospital and would be moving to Kansas in four, now three, weeks’ time.

Dean was happy for the couple, maintaining a relationship long distance was hard work and he saw how hard it was on Sam when the lawyer would paste a fake smile on his face and pretend to be okay after Skype dates with his girlfriend.

As the news sank in, however, a small traitorous fragment of his mind started to pick at the situation like an old wound. He’d developed a routine over the past however many months he’d been back at home – sometimes he’d lose count as the days merged into weeks – but having Jess in the picture would bring about a change in their lives whether Sam and Mary realised it or not. He didn’t realise it was happening, but over the past week his mind had played out every scenario he could imagine down to the last detail; the possibilities were endless and the anxiety had started to gnaw away at him little by little.

Would Sam move out to live with Jess? There were so many if’s and but’s to consider. Where would they live? They’d have to buy because renting was such a waste of money; did they have any money saved up? Would Jess move in with them? What if she saw him have a panic attack? What if she didn’t want to be with Sam because of him? Who would drive him to the hospital for his appointments? Would Sam not move out because of Dean? He was just holding everyone back. He was always holding everyone back. Sam had already given up his life in California because of Dean.

More than once during the week he’d had a thought that everyone would be better off if he wasn’t around. Sam could tell something was bothering him, not only because of the increase in nightmares but also with his general sullen attitude and his sudden lack of appetite. Which was why they were currently in the garage working on Baby; Mary and Sam were worried.

“Dean,” Sam attempted cautiously. “Is that why you’ve been so withdrawn this week? Because of Jess?”

“No,” Dean replied almost too quickly, on the defensive with his shackles raised. “Jess is great, I’m happy for you guys.”

“The thing is De, I know part of you is genuinely happy for us.” Sam moved back around the car from where he’d been putting away tools so there wasn’t a barrier between the brothers. “But something’s going on in that head of yours and I can’t help if you don’t tell me what you’re worrying about. Let me help you.”

Dean looked at the floor, at Baby for comfort, at the old brake pad still in his hands. Anywhere but at Sam.

“It’s nothing, I’m being stupid.” His voice was barely audible.

“Please De?”

Dean looked up then at the pleading tone Sam used to adopt when he was a child and wanted the last bowl of Lucky Charms or wanted to play with Dean’s Batman toys. Their eyes met and Dean felt his throat tighten.

“Jess is great Sammy, I mean that.” He started croakily, looking down at his hands again. “But her moving here… it’s going to change everything and I’m- I don’t want to hold you back anymore.”

Sam crouched in front of Dean’s chair, taking Dean’s hands in his own to stop the older man from digging the nails from his ‘good’ hand into the scar on his other – a newly developed habit he’d picked up when his was anxious that had his mother insist on cutting the nails so short they were pretty useless.

“You are not holding me back De, you never have.” Sam smiled softly. “You gave me so much when we were growing up, then you joined the Marines to start saving for my college fees. I couldn’t ask for a better big brother.”

Dean felt tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, partly out of Sam’s chick flick style confession, and partly out of frustration that Sam just wasn’t getting it.

“Mom says Jess can move in with us for a while until she gets her first pay check and finds a nice place to rent. I know it will be hard at first, having someone else in the house but Jess knows what to expect and she’ll give you as much space as you need. It’s only temporary.”

“You’re not moving out too?” He knew he sounded pathetic as he asked the question but there was already a single tear making tracks down his cheek so there was no avoiding it.

“I might spend a few nights a week at Jess’ place but I’m not moving out just yet. I want to live with her, buy a house together, get married. Eventually. But we’ve lived in different parts of the country for so long, it’s probably a good idea to take things slowly and get to know each other again.” Sam wiped the tear from Dean’s cheek with his thumb, cupping his brother’s face and tilting it up to force their eyes to meet again. “We want to cause the least amount of disruption to your routine as possible, any changes we’ll take slowly and if at any point it starts getting bad you just have to say, okay?”

They sat, or crouched in Sam’s case, as Dean processed the information.

A minute passed before Dean nodded. “You should take my room, it’s bigger.”

“Okay,” Sam replied standing. “What do you say to a Star Wars marathon and begging Mom to make a pie?”

“I’d say ‘taught you well, I have’.”

Dean’s smile almost reached his eyes as Sam moved behind him to push the chair towards the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all the lovely people leaving comments and kudos - much internet love to you x


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas finds Dean extremely drunk at a bar and takes him home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 4th to my American readers! I was hoping to have the Independance Day chapter up today but life got in the way and I'm a few chapters behind, I'll try and get it up soon - you'll just have to prolong the celebrations!
> 
> Warnings in this chapter for alcohol as a coping mechanism, scheming mothers and mentions of PTSD/nightmares/death.

Dean thought back to the first time he had laid eyes on Colonel Novak, back in that hell hole of a cell. His rescuer. He ‘saviour’. The man his mother and brother idolised for returning him to them.

So of course it was only fitting that Novak would be the one to find him drunk out of his ass on whiskey and pain meds at not even 2200 hours in a dive of a bar across town from where he lived.

Dean felt just as helpless as he had back in that cell as the Colonel's gaze took in his state sprawled across the floor, a mask of nothingness on his face hiding what Dean could only guess was pity and/or annoyance. As Cas reached out to help Dean back onto the bar stool, Dean's helplessness turned to anger and he pushed the older man away.

“I don' need your help an' I don' need your pity,” he spat out, crawling painfully back up the bar stool until he could use it as a barrier between him and Cas who hadn't moved or so much as flinched at the biting words.

“You don't have my pity, but you do need my help with your current predicament,” Cas gestured down to the crutches lying out of reach on the floor. “Captain.”

Out of habit, Dean straightened at being addressed by his rank, wobbling slightly. He glared directly into the Colonel's eyes defiantly and time seemed to stop as Novak held his stare. There was a lot going on behind those big blue eyes; where Dean had seen pity at first glance, he now saw sadness and something else, resignation?

Dean dropped his gaze, he didn't know how long they'd been standing there facing off but he could tell the atmosphere in the bar around them had changed from tense to awkward.

“Okay,” he said quietly, looking down to addressing the floor.

Without a word, Cas picked up both crutches in his left hand and moved to Dean's side. Slowly the pair shuffled out of the bar and into the cold night air with the Colonel acting as the Captain’s human crutch nodding apologies at the barman. He’d already slipped the guy some cash for Dean’s tab.

“Where's your car?” Cas looked for a sign of the shiny black '67 Impala.

“Can't drive yet,” Dean said dejectedly hitting his fist against his injured leg. It wasn't hard enough to hurt but Cas frowned at the action. “Got the bus.”

Cas recalled seeing a bus stop just down the street from the Winchester residence and he knew they stopped quite regularly outside the bar, he hoped Dean hadn’t pushed himself too hard to get there.

“Does your mother even know you're here?”

“Dude, 'm not twelve.”

Cas raised his eyebrow at the snarky yet slurred comment and huffed his disapproval.

“No, she doesn’t.” Dean conceded. “Just had to get out, ya know?”

Cas nodded and started moving them towards his car, they stopped just short and readjusted their position, Cas manoeuvring Dean slightly against his chest, the younger man’s head resting on his shoulder, in order to access his pockets.

“How much did you drink?” he muttered trying to ignore the hot breath against his neck and the body pressed against his own.

This was how he had intended to end the night, with a hot guy pressed against him, just not with this particular hot guy. He needed to get laid, that he knew already. That was the sole reason he was out tonight, at the dive bar for some Dutch courage before heading over to the only gay friendly place he’d managed to scout out in town, not that he’d actually been looking, he just happened to walk past it one evening. It wasn’t really his scene but it had been a long time since he’d released any sexual tension, and when nature calls…

“Two, three whiskeys maybe?” Dean mumbled cutting off his thought process. “Had doubles. Dunno why I’m so fuzzy. Can handle my liqueur.”

Cas fumbled for the keys in his trench coat pocket.

“Well you will feel funny if you drink whisky on top of your meds,” he berated. “They don’t mix well. It was a stupid thing to do, Dean.”

Dean whined and tried to hide his face in Castiel’s neck catching the older man by surprise.

“’m sorry. Messed up. Ruined your night.”

“Don’t be, I had no plans to ruin in the first place.” Cas replied not wanting to let on that he did actually have plans. He tentatively patted Dean on the back of the head in a comforting gesture.

It took some effort but eventually Castiel got Dean seated in the car, belt on and shoved the crutches onto the back seat.

“Your car sucks.” Dean said, head lolling to the left to look at Cas as he spoke.

Cas had to bite back a smirk as he pictured the drunk as Westley from The Princess Bride flailing about after being brought back to life.

“It was cheap.”

Cas drove in silence, glancing over at Dean occasionally to make sure he was still conscious and not about to empty his stomach. He’d cracked the passenger side window slightly to give him some air just in case and the younger man seemed grateful for the cool breeze.

It didn’t take long to reach the house. By the time he’d pulled up and started to get Dean out of the car, Sam and Mary were running down the path towards them.

“Thank God,” Mary cried as Sam helped Cas by supporting the other side of Dean. “We were so worried.”

“Sammy!” Dean exclaimed, pulling back to try and focus on his brother better as he was dragged inside.

“Where the hell were you?” Sam almost growled as they made it through the front door. “You’re wasted.”

“I had a li’l drink, nothin’ to worry about.” Dean had a sloppy grin on his face as he patted Sam’s cheek. His eyes went wide as if realising something, he beckoned Sam in closer and put a finger to his lips. “Shh, don’ tell Mom.”

“Mom already knows.” Mary snapped walking into Dean’s line of sight. “What were you thinking Dean?”

“Told ya not to tell,” Dean glared at his brother.

Mary rolls her eyes and motions towards the kitchen. “Let’s sit him down and get some water in him. Thank you so much for bringing him home Cas.”

“Honestly, it was no problem.” He replied, grunting with the weight of Dean who seemed to have lost more control over his movements. “I think the bartender was about to call him a cab anyway. I didn’t know whether to take him to the ER and get his stomach pumped because of the meds, but he was more lucid in the parking lot.”

They got Dean seated at the kitchen table and Sam got to work stripping the swaying man of his jacket and boots. Mary filled a large glass full of water and put a pot of coffee on while Cas ran out to his car to grab the crutches.

Just as Sam finished de-booting his brother, just as Cas leaned the crutches against the wall and just as Mary placed the glass of water on the table, Dean turned grey and held his hands up to his mouth.

Time seemed to freeze for a split second as everyone realised what was about to happen.

Suddenly they all rushed into action; Sam and Cas hauled Dean up by his armpits and strode as quickly as they could towards the downstairs washroom in the hall, Mary opening the door for them as they passed.

As soon as Dean saw the toilet he pulled out of Cas and Sam’s grip and dropped to his knees, crying out in pain as he retched into the basin, clutching the sides of the white porcelain bowl so hard his knuckles turned white.

Mary pushed the two men loitering in the bathroom out of the door and crouched to kneel next to her oldest son as he heaved into the toilet, stroking his back and running her fingers through his hair gently to try and soothe him.

When Dean stopped vomiting, gasping for air, he dropped awkwardly, twisting to half sit, half kneel taking the weight off his bad knee. He leant his head against the cold rim of the toilet, whimpering at the pain in his knee. Sweat clung to his forehead and he had tear in his eyes as Mary wiped damp hair away from his face.

“Don’t look at me Mom,” he whined quietly, exhausted. “Don’t let anyone look at me. ‘m a mess.”

Mary carefully pulled his sweat soaked t-shirt up over his head and off, wiping at the sides of his mouth where flecks of sick remained.

“No one’s looking at you sweetie,” she replied softly with a glance behind her at the doorway where both Sam and Cas were still lingering and were definitely looking. “You’re okay Dean Bee. You’re okay.”

After a few minutes of hair stroking and ‘Hey Jude’ humming on the floor, Dean started to shiver. Mary managed to get Dean to swill some mouthwash before gesturing for the others to help him up.

Dean seemed to have sobered up somewhat but was subdued as Sam and Cas gently got him to his bed in the room next door. They both left once he was settled with quiet goodbyes.

Once Mary had gotten Dean into a clean t-shirt and sleep pants, she crawled up onto the bed with him. He lay on his back with his head resting on his mother’s shoulder like he used to do when he was small and she would read to him.

“Why, baby?” Mary asks, stroking his cheek.

“I see them when I close my eyes. I see their faces. Their cold, lifeless faces. The explosion, the gun fire. And Jo, Mom, I see them torturing her every night in my dreams.” His voice broke as tears slipped down his cheeks. “I just wanted to forget.”

“I know,” she pressed a kiss to the top of his sandy hair, wiping a tear of her own from her cheek without him noticing. “I know, but alcohol isn’t the answer.”

Dean hiccupped as he cried, nodding that he knew.

They lay there in the dark for a while, Mary paying with Dean’s hair to relax him, the only sounds coming from Dean as he tried to stifle his sobbing and the low rumble of two voices elsewhere in the house.

“I’m sorry,” Dean said eventually. “I don’t want to be like this. I don’t want to turn into Dad.”

“You may have followed him into the Marines, Dean, but you are nothing like your father.” She reassured. “Apart from that damn car and your horrific taste in music.”

Dean smiled. “Says the woman who went to a Joni Mitchell concert.”

“Less of that mister, she’s my girl crush.” Mary poked him in the side playfully. “How’s your knee?”

“I’ll live.”

“Dean,” Mary warned.

“It hurts,” he relented. “Tonight was not my best idea.”

“No, it really wasn’t. I’m just glad Cas found you.”

Dean cringed. Oh God, why did it have to be him? “He must think I’m a mess, I mean I am a mess but he only ever sees me at my worst. He must wish he never got involved with this family-”

“Dean, you’re rambling.” Mary cut in, smiling at the realisation that Dean does care about what the Colonel thinks of him, even if he thinks Mr Tall Dark and Handsome only sees him negatively. “Cas cares about you, even with all your attempts at pushing him away.” She referred to the very awkward dinner she’d shared with Dean and Cas after the Colonel drove Dean to and from the hospital a few weeks previously. She really wanted to knock some sense into her son at times. “He wouldn’t still be in the kitchen if he didn’t care. Now get some sleep, I’m tired and I’ll have to deal with your hangover in the morning.”

“G’night Mom,” Dean whispered. “Love you.”

“I love you too sweetie.”

Mary stayed until Dean was asleep before slipping quietly out of the room, smiling to herself at the prospect of Dean finally realising that Cas could be a friend after all. He needed a friend outside of the family to give him a bit of breathing room, but someone that understood what Dean was going through and would put up with none of his crap. Mary planned to call on Cas more often. It was like setting up play dates for her kids all over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean is such a cockblock! 
> 
> Thanks for all your lovely comments so far peeps, you're really keeping me motivated to finish this fic and not start a new one (I have so many plot bunnies running around my head - why can't this be a full time job??).


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long!
> 
> WARNING: Panic attack (but no major triggers)

Jess moved in the weekend after Dean’s trip to the bar. Her boxes had arrived on the Friday and were being stored in the garage under the watchful guard of Dean’s car overnight until Jess could tell them what needed to go where. Thankfully she didn’t have a lot of stuff to send over having lived as lodger in her friend’s already furnished apartment.

She took an early flight on Saturday and was being met at the gate by Sam, it would take them about an hour to drive back to Lawrence from Kansas City where Mary and Dean were getting lunch ready.

Dean imagined Sam and Jess running at each other like a scene from a movie as he manhandled a peeler, trying to keep some apple on the apple rather than taking chunks out with the skin. His hand was not playing ball today and it was making him irritable. There would be kissing and hugging, and probably some spinning at the airport. Always with the spinning and the hugging and the kissing.

He threw the peeler down onto the chopping board and watched as the apple he’d been holding rolled off the table and hit the floor with a satisfying thud.

Mary looked up from her pastry making efforts and noticed the dejected look on her eldest son’s face as he rubbed at the old wound on his right hand with his left thumb. He’d started doing that more frequently and it seemed worse when he was fighting with his inner demons.

“Dean, honey, everything okay?” She wiped her hands on a cloth and moved over to the table in the centre of the room.

“Yeah Mom, just my hand playing up. I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? Because the Dean Winchester I know wouldn’t let good apples go to waste when there was pie to be made.” Mary squeezed his shoulder reassuringly until he relaxed his hands.

Ever since the drunken incident the weekend before, Mary and Sam had both been on Dean’s case; they wanted to know if he was okay at least five times a day, they both talked to him again about Jess moving in, they offered reassuring words when they weren’t needed. His mother and brother were becoming overbearing. He’d snapped more than once at the pair that he was just fine, thank you very much.

“I promise, it’s just the hand.” He patted her arm. “I’ll be on my best behaviour when Jess gets here.”

“Hmm,” Mary moved back to the counter to finish rolling out the pastry. “You better be, I’ve only seen our brother this happy three times before; when he was ten and found that stray dog, when he got into Stanford, and when we got the call to say they’d found you. Don’t ruin this for him.”

“Yes ma’am!” Dean saluted with a smirk.

He knew how much this meant to Sam, and he really wanted it to work despite his joking around. Thankfully there was a knock at the door before he could get himself into further trouble with his sass.

“Go on, get out of my kitchen and answer the door.” Mary chastised.

Dean wheeled himself out of the kitchen and into the hall. He opted for the chair over crutches that morning because he didn’t want to wear himself out before Jess got there and was determined to greet her on his own two feet, plus he wanted to look presentable and a morning of trying to walk everywhere would definitely leave him in need of a shower before lunch.

Opening the door he found himself looking up into bright blue eyes. A few beats of silent staring went by before Dean snapped out of his surprise.

“Cas, what are you doing here?”

“Hello Dean,” Castiel smiled. “Your mother invited me for lunch. I believe she has an ulterior motive though, sources say there are some boxes in the garage that need moving later on.”

The Colonel’s attempt at humour fell flat as Dean silently wheeled backwards to make room for him to pass. He had thought this was going to be a family meal – just him, Sam, Mom and Jess – to welcome Jessica into their home. Apparently no one thought to tell Dean it was open to anyone who was willing to carry a few boxes up a flight of stairs.

He wasn’t sure whether it was Castiel’s intrusion or the way the insinuation they needed reinforcements to shift the boxes left him feeling emasculated, either way he felt his mood slip back to irate mode bordering on peeved.

The guy offering Mary a kiss on the cheek in greeting before picking up the discarded peeler to finish the apples was the icing on the cake, so to speak; Dean was annoyed as hell.

With Dean, annoyed as hell could mean one of two things: he becomes sullen and withdrawn, snapping at anyone that gets within a ten metre radius, or, his determination kicks in and he focuses on proving a point, whatever point that may be at the time. The latter is a rarity, Mary having seen it a handful of times in the past thirty-something years. But that’s the route he takes.

By the time Sam is escorting Jess through the front door into her new [temporary] home half an hour later, Dean is dressed in the smartest jeans he owns, a nice pressed shirt and is clean shaven for the first time in weeks, even his hair has a bit of product in it. He stands in the hall leaning on the crutches with a warm smile, much to Mary, Sam and Cas’ surprise.

Jess is oblivious to the effort he’s made as she greets Mary, then Cas and finally Dean.

“It’s so good to see you again, and on two feet!” Jess exclaimed as she hugged him.  
  
Sam flinched but Dean just beamed at her.

“You too. I’m glad you’re here,” he replied genuinely. “Now maybe you’ll realise you should have gone for the better looking brother.”

“Alright, that’s enough of that!” Sam cried pulling his beautiful girlfriend away from Dean, who both laugh. “Mom, food?”

Everyone was in high spirits during lunch, even Dean much to his own surprise. The food was delicious as always and the conversation flowed nicely, even if Dean found he had little to contribute. Somewhere between what he presumed were the tamer of Sam and Jess’ college stories and Mary’s enquiries about the Colonel’s new job – yes, he was enjoying the work and no, he had never looked forward to summer break so much in his life – Dean got the impression Cas was still living in a motel and didn’t know very many people in Lawrence after all these months.

He suddenly understood his mother’s intentions in inviting Castiel to join them and feels ashamed about his earlier assumptions. Mary had always been a nurturer, even after Dean and then Sam left the nest she got her nurturing outlet at the elementary school she volunteered at a few days a week after she retired. She’d tried to support John emotionally for years until their eventual divorce and had stayed in touch with his friends to make sure he was looking after himself. He shouldn’t have expected anything less of his mother.

By the time the dishes were washed and the boxes unpacked, Dean could feel himself flagging. Not wanting to get grumpy and spoil the day, he excused himself back to his room for a nap earning a raised eyebrow from Mary.

Over the next few weeks the newly extended Winchester family settled into a routine that seemed to suit them all. Sam and Jess got their date night once a week, working around Dean’s need to be shuttled to and from Topeka or his group therapy sessions and Jessica’s shift pattern. Mary even started going out again and meeting up with the many friends she’d been neglecting for the past year. Cas would visit once or twice a week to have dinner with the family and join them for movie night. Apart from the nightmares, Dean hadn’t had an episode in weeks and was finally starting to see the progress he’d been making.

* * *

 

It was a particularly warm evening in May when the bubble burst.

Dean felt like the air was sucked out of his lungs as the world closed in around him. The faces of his dead team mates the only things he could focus on as they glared at him from the big television screen in the corner. Everything surrounding it was a blur and fading fast.

He heard shouting as his arms gave way, no longer able to hold his weight; the crutches fell away as he crumpled to the floor.

Noises and light faded to black.

Mary and Jess were talking animatedly to Castiel around the grill in the backyard when they heard Sam yelling Dean’s name from inside the house. Cooking utensils and chairs clattered to the floor as they all rushed inside, Cas flipping the off switch on the grill as he passed it.

In the doorway of the front room lay Dean, staring blindly at the ceiling, shaking and gasping for breath. He was clinging onto Sam’s shirt with both hands and had managed to pull it, with his brother still inside, to his chest.

Sam looked up helplessly as his girlfriend, mother and friend came into view.

“He won’t let me touch him,” Sam said carefully removing his shirt and extracting himself from Dean’s grip.

“Do you blame him?” Cas snapped, gesturing to the news still playing quietly on the screen. Images of Dean and his team were still up there with the headline ‘Anniversary of Marine attack’. “How could you be so stupid, Sam?”

“I thought he was outside with you. I- I just wanted to see what they were saying,” Sam relented. He walked over to the television and turned it off, ashamed of what he’d caused. “I didn’t know… I didn’t mean for him to see.”

Mary sighed, kneeling down next to her oldest child on the floor. She reached out to touch his arm, softly stroking his bare forearm. Dean flinched and whined at the contact between desperate gulps of air. She quickly retracted her hand.

“I don’t know what to do!” She cried throwing her hands in the air.

Jess, who had lingered in the hallway until now, came to Mary’s side and pulled her up into a hug. “Maybe he needs space,” she whispered. “He’ll be okay.”

“He’s been fine, he was getting better.” The older woman’s voice was muffled as she cried into Jess’ shoulder. The nurse just stroked her back.

“Should we call someone?” Sam asked, looking to Cas for the answers. He hadn’t seen his brother like this before, not this bad.

“Maybe,” the shorter man replied moving closer to Dean, a deep set worry frown evident on his face. “I’d like to try something though.”

The three other occupants of the room watched as the retired Colonel knelt near Dean’s shoulders. He paused as if working out his next move then quickly – with a speed that caught everyone unaware – grabbed Dean’s arms and hauled him up so he was leaning against Cas’ chest, arms locked under the older man’s across his torso while still clutching at Sam’s shirt.

The initial shock of the move had silenced Dean and seemed to almost bring him out of the attack, it only lasted for a fraction of a second before the shaking started again. But Cas continued to hold him tightly, gently rocking backwards and forwards on his knees and murmuring gentle words into sandy hair.

After a few minutes Dean’s breathing matched Castiel’s and the shaking turned to shivering. Cas accepted a blanket from Mary and held the top under his arms to cover them both. He eventually managed to pry Sam’s shirt from sweaty hands that were quick to grasp onto his.

Fifteen minutes later Dean was asleep, head tucked under Castiel’s chin and hands still gripping securely onto Cas’. At some point he’d turned into the embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter really is just moving things along... but 4th July next chapter y'all!


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Winchesters, Jess and Cas help Dean through 4th July in their own special way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little later than promised... I’ve had parts of this chapter written for a while – this was the plot bunny that sparked the whole idea for this fic in the first place so I hope you enjoy!

Dean had no idea where they were going, it was the 4th July and he had been bundled into the back of Sam’s car alongside Cas and Jess. Mary rode shotgun. He wouldn’t admit it, aside from his usual grumbling, but he didn’t want to be going anywhere on today of all days. Celebrating US independence was laughable when he was so far from independent himself now after fighting for freedom his entire adult life, relying on his family to drive him anywhere and to look after him when he had an ‘episode’. Not to mention the impending noise of the fireworks that would no doubt give him hours of grief later.

He felt betrayed by the people who chatted happily around him, surely they knew taking him out on the biggest night for fireworks in the American calendar was a recipe for disaster. The incident back in May had been the start of a particularly rough patch for Dean and Chuck was forced to up his anti-everything pills.

There weren’t enough pills in the world for this. He’d much rather suffer the wrath of distant whizz bangs from the safety of his own bed, where he could bury under the sheets and hum Metallica to himself. No, instead he was being driven to God only knows where, some crappy country song on the radio and the promise of a friggin’ picnic when they get ‘there’.

The car ride was long, too long in Dean’s books but he was glad for the air con. The same ride in Baby would have been unbearable in the heat of July, even with the extra room the larger car would have allowed. They finally pulled off the freeway and drove another couple of miles before turning onto a country road lined with trees evenly spaced out on either side. Soon they turned off into a dusty car park, which was over half full, but Dean still had no clue where they were, he missed all the signs thanks to distractions from the others trying to engage him in conversation.

Everyone piled out of the car – Dean eased out clumsily but that’s just semantics – stretching after being enclosed for so long. Dean watched as Cas lifted his face to the sun with eyes half lidded, basking in the glow with a smile. He realised he was staring and pulled his gaze back to the others. Sam grabbed the picnic hamper out of the trunk, Jess took the small cooler and Mary collected the blankets. Dean scowled at the implication that Cas, the only other able bodied person left in the group, was therefore left in charge of Dean.

So maybe Cas did have a calming effect on him when he was really anxious or having a panic attack, but it was only because he knew what to do – the guy seemed to know exactly what Dean needed and when, which was a little unnerving – but that didn’t mean Dean needed a babysitter!

He was pleasantly surprised when Cas insisted on taking the cooler from Jess and blankets from Mary with a charming smile. It made him feel slightly more at ease with the situation, even if he was undergoing an internal battle not to freak out at the uncertainty of not knowing where they were or what they were doing. But Chuck said it would be good to break his routine every now and again, and just go with the flow when it came to distractions, under the close eye of his loved ones of course. Dean wasn’t convinced but tried to focus his nervous energy into moving the crutches forward and not falling flat on his face.

The group walked slowly, for Dean’s benefit, down a paved path between some trees until they came out at a clearing in front of a large plantation house. The place was huge but well kept. The grass lawn in front of the building was neatly mowed and bordered by beds of multi-coloured flowers. The same flowers framed either side of the grand steps up to the building. Rows of windows with iconic plantation shutters were gleaming in the sunlight and the walls of the building were painted a pale yellow.

A large wrought iron gate separated the house from a high wall to the left of the building, painted the same yellow as the house, the gate’s frame was decorated with red, white and blue bunting which covered a pattern of wrought iron animals that could just be seen below the material. The gate was open and the party moved through.

Dean wasn’t sure what he expected to see on the other side of the wall, perhaps a vast lawn with a game of croquet in progress – it seemed like the kind of place – or maybe a boating lake. What he wasn’t expecting was a freaking zoo! Dean shuffled further forward on his crutches to get a better look.   
  
The inside of the wall was lined with large bird cages, all donned with the red, white and blue bunting and housing a variety of squeaking and squawking birds. In the centre of the square, walled off garden was a low maze at knee height where several small children were running around laughing. He could see an old style ice cream kiosk and signs for restrooms along the other wall, and there was a gap in the wall with a ramp leading to more attractions. A stand-alone sign pointing in different directions told him there were jungle, safari and Antarctic areas.

He turned around to the smiles of the others who were watching him intently. That wiped the kid in a candy store look off his face and he aimed a scowl at them instead.

“How old do you think I am?” He griped, silently wanting them to get a move on so they could go exploring.

Sam laughed. “Oh come on De, be a big boy and behave or we’ll have to put you down for a nap.”

He huffed and slowly stalked off in the opposite direction on his crutches towards the ramp that leads to the other areas.

They caught up with him just as he reached the bottom of the ramp, a few feet in front of them was a shiny white land train slowly filling with people. Dean had wondered how he was going to manage getting around the whole zoo, but he suddenly realised his family had done their research. Damn them.

The zoo was something special, the enclosure were huge and the animals seemed content. Each area had big information boards that talked about the conservation projects the zoo supported and there were detailed descriptions of each animal’s individual personality, most were orphaned and unable to be released into the wild or rescued from black markets around the world. Two of the tigers were even part of a breeding programme that was attempting to repopulate Sumatra where the species was dying out.

After a few areas had been discovered the picnic was consumed, as promised. Once Sam had run back to the car with empty cooler and hamper, they carried on with their tour.

As they moved around the penguin enclosure Cas stopped to watch two of the flightless birds intently, Dean doubled back to see what the fuss was about. The two penguins followed one another everywhere, stopping to nuzzle their beaks into the other’s neck on occasion.

“I think they like each other.” Dean said after a while, nudging the older man’s shoulder.

Cas hummed in response with a smile.

“I see you’ve met our first gay couple,” said a voice from behind them.

Dean and Cas turned to see a chirpy blonde in the zoo’s uniform with ‘Team Penguin’ and ‘Alfie’ written across his left breast pocket.

“They’re madly in love,” the keeper continued. “Haven’t spent a minute apart in almost six months now. We’ve nicknamed them Bert and Ernie.”

“Surely that’s a first?” Cas asked.

“Nah, New York beat us to the punch with their gay penguins in the eighties. There’s a couple of males in England that are raising an orphaned chick. Still, I think it might have contributed to the gay marriage win, Obama was pretty smitten with these little guys.”

“Well, if it happens in nature you can’t really argue.” Cas beamed.

Dean suddenly felt like he was intruding on some sort of human mating ritual and turned back to the penguins as Cas asked more questions.

They’d seen the whole zoo by the time the sun was starting to set, the tigers twice because they didn’t want to miss the ‘Tiger Pool Party at 3pm’ where the cubs played with the keepers – Dean secretly thought the tigers were his favourite, not that grown men have favourite animals. They hopped back on to the land train. Dean didn’t realise they weren’t headed back to the house until they passed it and headed for an outer lying field away from the animal enclosures.

People were sprawled out across the field, some on picnic blankets and some with camping chairs. The Winchesters, Jess and Cas exited the train and headed out to find their own space. In the dusk light, lanterns flickered on in the trees and bushes that lined the edges of the area, and on spikes stuck in the ground around the field lighting their way. As the sun finally set it cast one last warm glow over the zoo, and had Dean been a romantic or a poet he would have said it was almost magical. But he didn’t because he wasn’t.

Sam and Jess disappeared after they’d all settled onto their picnic blankets and came back a little while later giggling to each other with a selection of food from the massive barbeque set up in one corner.

Suddenly the air was filled with the quiet sound of white noise associated with outdoor PA systems before a loud voice spoke.

“Welcome ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls. It is so good to once again see so many of you here with us. Some faces I recognise and some are not so familiar. I welcome you all to my humble home. It’s lovely to see so many military personnel here tonight. We thank each and every one of you for your service; words cannot explain how grateful we are for your hard work and sacrifices that you made to fight for our freedom.”

During the speech Dean looked around at the other families around them, next to them is a man in a wheelchair with one leg, to the other side is a woman with quite severe facial scarring. He hadn’t noticed any of these things before, or really paid attention to anyone around them. He’d been so caught up in the moment and the distraction his family had concocted that his usual alert state had been compromised. It was the first time in a very long time he felt almost normal.

“We’re glad that you’re here to join us in celebrating Independence Day in our own special way.”

Suddenly he wasn’t feeling so calm. His whole body tensed as all of his previous worries about the day came flooding back.

“As many of you know, we’ve been holding our special celebrations for a number of years now, since the death of our beloved son Jack. Jack, like many of you here, was in the military but he came home with PTSD that went undiagnosed for a long time. Independence Day was particularly hard for Jack, especially the noise.

“In his memory, and the memory of so many people like Jack, we started putting on 4th July light displays. Since then we have discovered silent fireworks with no bangs, no screeches and no whistles. The animals are very thankful for it as well!

“So sit back, relax and enjoy our light and firework display as we celebrate America’s Independence once more.”

As the man stopped speaking the national anthem started playing softly, not loudly but clear enough to make out. Lights started to flash above them, Dean looked up and saw bursts of red, white and blue fill the sky. When the anthem finished a more modern song that Dean vaguely recognised played; song after song the magnificent firework display continued.

Dean was mesmerised.

A click and a bright flash to his left had his head whipping around to find Jess lowering her camera and giving him a wink; she had been taking candid shots of everyone all day, as well as a few posed family pictures. He rolled his eyes as she turned back to watch the display.

Turning to his other side, he leaned over to his mother and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. With a gentle kiss to her cheek he whispered, “Thank you.”

“It was Cas’ idea,” she replied wrapping her arm around his waist and squeezing. “He thought you would appreciate being away from the noise today.”

Cas was sitting further back on the blanket so Dean had to turn and look behind Mary’s head to see him. The older man catches his eye and ducks his head a little, thankful that the colours of the fireworks across his face hide the red tint of embarrassment that creeps across his cheeks at having been caught watching Dean enjoy the show.

Dean turns back to the display smiling at Castiel’s awkwardness. Maybe the guy wasn’t so bad after all.

Once the display was over and everyone was back in the car it was pretty late. Sam put in one of Dean’s tapes, which he’d pilfered from the garage that morning, to cover the sound of any late night displays on the drive home that might still be going on. Dean fell asleep in the back seat to the sounds of Metallica and the chatter of his family ten minutes into the journey, his head slowly falling until it found a pillow in the shape of Castiel’s shoulder.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... how was everyone's Hellatus? Sorry this update is soooo late, life happened. I really appreciate you sticking with it - hope you continue to enjoy x
> 
> Oh man, forgot the warnings: self-deprecation, mentions of scars (lots of them) and Dean generally thinking he's a failure.

“It’s been a year,” Dean hesitated trying to keep his voice from breaking. “A year and a day since I got rescued. I- I can’t really understand how it’s been a year already.”

A year, a whole year. Birthdays, holidays and the changing of the seasons all seemed to pass him by with little impact, a slight blip in his routine at most. His family were getting bolder as Dean seemed to be able to adapt to change more, like the Fourth of July trip last week and Sammy’s birthday in May where Mary threw a garden party for friends and family, before the only difference on a birthday or holiday was the food and maybe a small gift or two because they didn’t want to upset the routine.

“Time passes Dean, can’t change that.” Meg supplied from across the circle of people. “But focus on the fact that you’ve been safe for a whole year, and look at the progress you’ve made – you’re walking again.”

Dean huffed. “Yeah, getting there.”

“How do you feel in yourself? Compared to six months ago.”

He scratched the back of his neck, still self-conscious with the attention on him after all this time at group session. “Better, I guess. Less anxious maybe, I don’t feel like I have to be on high alert all the time. Loud noises don’t bother me so much – sometimes, but its better. Night time is still rough.”

“You certainly seem much better, it’s a long road but you’ve made great progress. Everything can seem worse in the dark and quiet of the night, that’s something we can all agree on.” Meg paused as a murmur of assent rippled around the room. “But the dawn always comes, you just have to hold in there until morning.”

 

* * *

 

Later that night Dean stood in front of the bathroom mirror, just like he did all those months ago after his first group therapy session. A lot had changed between then and now. His face was almost the same as it had been before, he guessed he was lucky the only sign of his capture was a hairline scar in his left eyebrow which he had to really focus on to see.

He filled out his clothes more now than he did back then, God bless his momma’s cooking and the physical exercise Al pushed him through each week; physio was much more of a full body work out than it had been, with a some stretches to help ease the weight on his injured limbs.

Heck, he looked almost healthy… with his clothes on.

It was a rare occasion that anyone saw him shirtless or in shorts these days – at the hospital it was different, Al made him wear swimming shorts when they went in the pool but he was allowed to keep a t-shirt on and he chose the longest shorts he could find to keep him covered – aside from Mary and Sam when they had to help him change for a few months and during a sweat soaked nightmare, no one had seen what lay beneath the layers of fabric. Dean even avoided looking at himself.

He stripped off his shirt quickly, discarding it on the floor and shuffled out of his pants. He gripped the sides of the sink to support him, mentally rather than physically, before straightening and looking at himself in the reflection of the mirror.

His pale torso was strewn with scars; two big long cuts from a knife whose aim was to cause painful flesh wounds ran from one side of his abdomen to the other, the marine tattoo on his left peck was twisted and deformed by the scars that had bled the longest and across his middle a mess of lines he knew used to form a word before the doctors in the US took pity and re-cut to mutilate whatever his captors had deemed him worthy of. He never knew what it said, he couldn’t bend over enough to read it once the wound had stopped bleeding and by the time he was conscious back on home soil it had already been re-cut. He didn’t need to turn around to know he had five crisscrossed belt burns forever ingrained on his back.

Looking down to his left leg, the scar started midway down his thigh, getting deeper and wider as it reached the knee, before twisting around the side and underneath the kneecap before trailing off down his shin. It made his whole leg look twisted and deformed, the way the skin was indented and stretched, pink and shiny. It was in stark contrast to the raised ridges of scars across his torso which were lighter in colour, some turning to a less noticeable flesh colour already.

He hated it. Hated what his body had become at the hands of those-

“Dean,” Sam’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

The older brother didn’t need to turn around to know Sam was standing in the doorway, a frown of concern furrowed into his forehead.

“You okay?”

Dean dropped his chin to his chest, unsure how to answer or whether he really was okay. He’d tried to ignore them but the scars had been playing on his mind more and more as his walking and anxiety got better, the thoughts bringing anxieties of their own to the forefront of his mind. When he was younger he’d taken pride in his body, working out not only to keep fit and get ready to join the Marine’s, but also to look good and be confident with the opposite sex. But now, who would want him now? A disabled, unemployed and extensively scarred ex-soldier who couldn’t make it through the night without having a nightmare, not to mention Dean Junior still lacked enthusiasm for even the raciest Busty Asian Beauties magazines.

“Dean?” Sam had moved closer so he was stood side by side with Dean now, looking at his brother’s reflection in the mirror so their eyes met when Dean raised his head.

It was the look in Sam’s eyes that broke Dean’s resolve and the floodgates opened.

“Who’s gonna want me like this, Sammy? I’m useless; broken and mangled. No one’s gonna stick around when they see me naked, and if they do what then? I can’t support a family, what work can I do?” Dean’s voice is shaky, breaking as he gets everything off his chest. “I’ve got nothing going for me. I can’t even get it up.”

He doesn’t cry until Sam pulls him into his arms, engulfed in his younger brother’s giant form he finally let’s go and sobs, clinging onto Sam’s shirt.

They stand there for over ten minutes, Sam solid as a rock, half holding Dean up at the same time as stroking Dean’s hair in comfort. He hadn’t realised Dean was getting himself worked up about the future, his big brother was the master of repressing his thoughts and feelings after all, and he certainly had no idea about the erectile dysfunction. It hurt him to see his brother in so much pain, emotionally, and he would do anything to try and make it better but he only had words and he could make no promises about what would happen in a week from now, let alone a month or year.

When Dean’s tears slowed and he was no longer making sobbing noises, he pulled back but Sam didn’t let him go far, holding on to Dean’s bare upper arms.

“You listen to me, Dean Winchester,” Sam said sternly. “You are more than that. These scars, they don’t define you. Being a prisoner of war, that doesn’t define you either. You are a great man, a hero who risked everything to keep his team safe, to keep America safe. Ever since I can remember you’ve looked out for me, and Mom, always doing right by your family first. I know that’s why you joined the Marine’s; you weren’t following in Dad’s footsteps, you were making sure Mom had enough money to send me to Law school. You’ve always sacrificed your needs for mine and Mom’s, and that’s the kind of thing that defines a person. You’re caring, intelligent and you’re still the better looking brother. Anyone would be lucky to have you in their life. You’ll find someone, and they’ll love you for who you are, warts and all.”

Dean huffed a laugh through the tears still falling down his cheeks, bringing up a hand to wipe them away.

“I do not have warts.”

Sam grinned letting go of Dean’s arms. “Thanks God! I don’t think I could take anymore dick updates tonight.”

If Dean’s face hadn’t been pink from crying already, he would have flushed realising he’d spilled the beans to his little brother. He turned back to the sink and held the porcelain for support.

“Hey,” Sam moved back into his personal space. “It happens, especially after something as traumatic as what you went through. Just give it time.”

“It’s been a year,” Dean muttered.

“So what’s a few more months?”

“No dick jokes.”

“No dick jokes,” Sam agreed, and that was the last they spoke of it.

 

* * *

 

“Are you sure I can’t be of assistance?”

“For the last time, I can manage!” Dean bit out as he once again stumbled on the stair, green eyes glaring up at the dark-haired man peering down at him.

Cas hummed in disagreement but stayed put as Dean struggled up the last few steps, only tripping once more before he reached the top. As soon as he was level with the older man, he let go of the banister to flick his hands out palm-side up in a ‘see, I told you I could do it’ manner, which only caused him to wobble and almost fall back down the way he came.

Cas grabbed his wrists before he leant too far backwards, pulling Dean tight to his chest. The shock of the almost fall and then sudden closeness knocked some of the wind out of Dean’s lungs and he gasped audibly.

“I’ve got you,” Castiel’s gravelly voice rumbled close to Dean’s right ear, so close the breath felt hot on his skin.

Dean swallowed. Was Cas’ voice always that deep? Or was it their proximity?

“What would your mother say if I let you end up in hospital the first time you attempted the stairs on your own?” There was a hint of amusement to his tone but Dean knew Cas was berating him for not accepting the offered help and then being cocky about it.

He suddenly felt very warm; embarrassed and very well aware that he was still in Castiel’s hold, their bodies flush together, he coughed and made to move away. Cas kept his hold on Dean’s wrists however and stepped back, making Dean follow him further onto the landing and away from the perils of the stairs. Eventually he let go and Dean stepped back, almost falling to the floor before Cas caught him again.  
“Your crutches are downstairs.”

“It’s okay, just help me get to my room and I can sit down.”

Cas didn’t need directing to Dean’s new room – Sam’s old one – since he’d helped Sam and Jess move their boxes into Dean’s old room weeks earlier, which was a good thing because Dean was out of breath and knew he’d sound pretty pathetic if he tried to talk and walk right then.

Dean was moving back upstairs after just over a year of living in the study, finally! Al had told him he needed to push himself more, and getting from ground level to the next floor in his own home was pushing it quite enough thank you very much.

It was the first week of the school holidays so Sam, Mary and Jess were at work, but Cas was available to help Dean move his things and do the lifting, carrying and general leg work – no pun intended. His new room was smaller than the one he’d grown up in so it was time to sort through everything he’d accumulated in the thirty-odd years they’d lived there to see what could go and what could stay.

They worked all morning, Cas moving boxes and bringing things up from downstairs, and Dean sorting things into piles for trash, goodwill or eBay. Dean would occasionally tell a story about something he found along the way, and Cas regaled him with tales about his students. When they got hungry, Cas popped down to the kitchen and came back with sandwiches, a bag of chips to share and two cokes. They ate and talked. It was easy, it was almost normal.

He was glad Cas was there. He’d gotten used to having the Colonel around, somehow he made Dean feel more at ease by just being there, even if he was an awkward human being sometimes. He was even starting to consider him a friend.

“Dean, is everything okay?”

Cas’ voice snapped Dean’s attention out of his musings. Oh man, he’d been staring. At the Colonel. Who had been bending over to lift another box. Dean had been staring at the Colonel’s butt. He realised he hadn’t been staring into thin air in the direction of Cas’ ass, but at the way the Colonel’s jeans hugged said ass as he bent to lift the box. Crap!

What the hell, Winchester?

Dean flushed bright pink and coughed. “Yeah, sorry just zoned out for a bit. Must be tired.”

“Yes, we have been at this for some time.” Cas looked at his watch. “Your mother and Jess should be home soon.”

Time really had flown if it was almost 4pm. Cas started taking the boxes marked for trash and goodwill downstairs as Dean set about folding clothes into the dresser from his seat at the end of the bed. When Cas came back into the room he helped tidy the room so it was liveable again.

“What is this?”

Dean turned to see what Cas was talking about and visibly cringed.

“I, uh… It’s nothing, just a stupid idea.” He stood as quickly as he could and shuffled over to pull the crumpled map out of Cas’ hands. “It should have gone in the trash.”

Cas was too quick though and used Dean’s disability to his advantage, moving out of reach and unfolding the map. He was careful not to dislodge any of the sticky notes with addresses scrawled across them attached to the map as he turned it the right way up and traced the lines drawn on in marker with his eyes.

“It’s private. Please, just...” Dean trailed off in defeat, flopping back down on the bed. “It’s stupid.”

Cas would have missed the last muttered few words had the room not been so quiet.

“It’s not stupid, Dean.” Cas chastised, turning with the map still spread between his arms. “This is very well thought out. When are you going?”

“Going? When am I going?!” Dean sat up from where he’d flopped onto his back, defeat suddenly turned to anger. “I’m not. Not now, not ever. How can I go on a road trip when I can’t even drive?”

“I presumed Sam or your mother… Do they even know?” Cas asked softly, perching on the bed next to the younger man.

Dean hung his head between his shoulders, shaking it slightly giving Castiel all the answer he needed. The pair sat in silence, Cas studying the map of The States while Dean tried to control his emotions.

“I could drive you.”

Dean looked up at the other man through his long lashes.

“I mean, we’d have to clear it with Chuck but I don’t see why we couldn’t do it this summer. I have no solid plans.”

“You- you’d do that?” Dean stuttered in disbelief.

Cas nodded firmly.

“But I’m an asshole at the best of times.”

“Come on, Winchester. You’re not that hard to deal with,” the teacher smirked. “Besides, I need a vacation and this is obviously something very important to you, which you’d written off and not even shared with your family by the way. It’ll be emotional and hard at times, but it might bring you closure and if that’s even a slight possibility I’m all in.”

Dean didn’t know what to say, his eyes were filled with unshed tears as he slowly smiled at the man sitting beside him. He had no idea what he’d done to deserve a friend like Castiel Novak, and he was overwhelmed with the Colonel’s generosity and kindness. No one besides Mary had ever offered so much to him, not even Sam. It was almost as if a weight had been lifted; he would finally get to tell the families of his fallen colleagues how truly sorry he was for letting them down and failing to bring their children, brothers, parents home.


End file.
